


Presque Vu

by ametis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Het, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Manipulation, Prostate Orgasm, Rimming, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, encephalitis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ametis/pseuds/ametis
Summary: Will stresses himself out so much that he can’t get off. He asks Hannibal for help.





	1. Chapter 1

Will heard a sound, soft and persistent all at once. He followed its call, found words that blended together. He was sure he’d heard them before, although he couldn’t say when. Why his brain chose to linger on them he didn’t know, only that they were there, mingling with the rest of his thoughts.

“Will?”

Will blinked and the almost-words got replaced by the sound of heavy rain and the hum of a car engine. Right. He was in Jack’s car, on his way to a crime scene. The world outside rushed past the window in a gray blur of traffic.

“You sleep at all, anymore?” Jack sounded tired and absent himself.

Will’s fingers twitched, irritation creeping up on him. “Sure, when you don’t call first thing in the morning.” It wasn’t entirely true, given the recent increase of nightmares, but Will felt cranky.

Jake seemed to notice. He gave him a pointed look.

“In fits and starts,” Will said eventually. His coffee cup was still full in his hand. He took a sip and put his head back to watch the windshield wipers; even on their highest setting they could barely keep up with the rain.

“I need your full attention, Will.”

“I know.”

They arrived at the crime scene soon after, went through the house full of police deputies, and into the sealed off bedroom of the victim. The dense, cloying scent that hung in the room made Will’s stomach turn. Stale air, rich with the odor of human decay and old blood. He was used to that putrid smell by now, coating the back of his throat at every crime scene, but something was different here, something he couldn’t grasp yet. It was pressing in on him, dark and hot.

“Nothing like doing this in the morning, huh?” Price said.

He, Zeller and Beverly stood around the bed where a man lay with his hands and feet tied to the bedposts. The white sheets under his lower body were drenched in blood. In place of the penis and testicles was a red-brown wound.

Will took the latex gloves he was offered and stepped closer.

“John Miller,” Zeller said, “38-year-old lawyer, single, no children. Was discovered by his housecleaner this morning.”

“Gonna take a while to clean this mess up,” Price muttered, bending closer to one bound wrist. He took a picture of the stiff fingers. The rope around the wrists and ankles was fastened with confidence and enough care to make sure it didn’t cut off circulation.

Beverly turned toward Will and Jack. “Cuts from his knees all the way to his chest. Mostly on his thighs. There’s also this,” she said, leaning down and placing a gloved fingertip on the man’s groin.

“What are we looking at?” Jack asked.

“A needle, I think.” She pressed a little harder on the surrounding flesh.

Zeller stepped closer, clicking a flashlight on and holding it onto the area. The end of a thin needle stood out from the flesh.

Zeller wrinkled his nose. “A needle? Like the Gray Man?”

“The Gray Man?” Price asked.

“Albert Fish.”

“Oh, the Werewolf of Wysteria.” Price nodded. “Weird fetish guy.”

“Serial killer and a total nutjob,” Zeller stopped speaking and gestured at the victim. “Uh, no pun intended,” he said. “But he put twenty-nine needles inside himself. Twenty-nine. Also, he was a cannibal.”

 Jack straightened and regarded Zeller, arms crossed. “Was anything taken from this man?”

“Apart from the obvious?” Beverly asked.

A click and Price’s camera went off. “His private parts are missing,” he said. “But there’re no incisions other than the visible ones.”

Will hadn’t said anything during their exchange, too busy observing. Now, he couldn’t help it. Jack wanted only one thing these days and got sloppy in his haste. “You’re not thinking Chesapeake Ripper, are you, Jack?” He felt his mouth twitch and quickly forced it into a thin line.

Jack lifted his eyebrows. “I’m asking you to think for me.”

Right.

Closer to the bed, the heat was strong. One part of Will knew what they were looking at, the other didn’t want to acknowledge it. “Chesapeake Ripper never kills like this. There’re no sexual components in his killings.”

“Maybe he’s expanding his horizons,” Zeller suggested, just for the sake of arguing – a trainee could see the stark absence of elegance. Jack saw it, too, but he would gladly ignore it to get closer to the Ripper.

“No,” Will said. “He’s methodical and cold. This is messy, charged with –  emotion. The display had a purpose before the death, not after.” He could feel it thick around his body, sliding down his spine. The hairs on his arms stood on end. It was hard to keep down the coffee he’d had when he could almost taste the arousal in the air.

The room went quiet for a moment, observing, then Price hummed. “Bobbittized punishment?” His brow was furrowed. “Should we be looking for his missing parts on the street?”

Zeller made a sound against the back his gloved hand.

“Bobbitt?” Beverly asked, a little skeptical. She looked at Will. “You they were a couple?”

“If they were, I’d say something went wrong.” 

“Well, by the looks of it, the cause of death is blood loss,” Beverly said. She pointed to the man’s thigh where a deep gash stood out, deeper than the others. “We’ll run the tests, but pretty sure he was alive while his genitals were removed.”

Will nodded. “There’re signs of struggle.” The man had yanked on the restraints with enough force to rub his skin raw before the blood loss had immobilize him.

“First the Angle Maker, now this guy,” Price said. “What’s with killers and castration these days?”

Will lifted his shoulders. “Let me look.”

“Take your time,” Jack said and ushered the others out.

Will was alone in the room, only the thickness of the air and its little whispers with him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again his body felt warmer than before, his heart thudded in his chest.

Excitement colored the world in a layer of red haze.

The man was alive and moving on the bed, warm under Will’s hands. His wrists were tied up; Will was finishing tying his ankles.

There was no fear in the air, only anticipation.

“Towels under the body indicate that I have planned this,” Will said, “just like he has.” The body before him was clean, shaven, a blank canvas waiting for his love.

He straddled the man’s thighs and didn’t know what to do until the weight of a knife registered in his hand. He tightened his fist around the handle and put the point of it to the man’s chest. A slow motion of his hand reddened the pale skin and turned Will’s breath into gasps.

“I start cutting here and I don’t stop. He doesn’t want me to stop.”

The man’s hips thrust up against Will. He was aroused and getting more so with each new cut, his desperation almost tangible. 

Will felt his own body react; heat rushed through him that only grew stronger when his knife slid through skin and flesh. Soon the man’s chest was covered in short horizontal lines of blood. Will moved down his body, and started cutting above the knees, taking turns to cover both legs. The closer he got to the man’s erect penis, the louder the groans around him became.

He lingered on one cut, high up on the man’s thigh. Blood flowed more easily here. With just a little more pressure, it spilled down the smooth curve of the man’s thigh, soaking the sheets. Will cleaned the knife on his pants and pressed in again, watched the shiny surface of it get stained.

The man was writhing under him, short jerks that he tried to control. Will must’ve ordered him to keep still. He sounded euphoric despite his restrictions, or maybe because of them. His breath and energy made Will push the knife harder until he couldn’t hear anything other than the roar of his own blood.

It was easier like this. It would be easier.

“I will preserve the pleasure he takes from this. I will make it last forever.”

Will opened his eyes with a gasp. Nausea rose in him suddenly. He had to step away from the bed and take a few steadying breaths. The room was still filled with the smell of coppery blood and heat, making him gag. He had to wait a couple more moments before he called out for Jack.

“This – this was consensual,” he said, “to uh, to a certain degree.”

“Consensual?”

Will nodded. “He enjoyed getting cut. Our guy enjoyed cutting him.” Will took a deep breath. “It has nothing to do with cannibalism. There was – excitement.”

“He was into whips and chains?” Zeller asked.

“Knifes and needles,” Price said. “Evidently.”

“It was planned by both men, or parts of it, not the result. You will find a thing — something he forgot. He didn’t want to kill him, it was a spur of the moment thing.”

Jack and Beverly were silent.

“You don’t just cut off somebody’s penis,” Price said.

“He – he wanted to stop,” Will said.

“Doesn’t look like he wanted to stop,” Jack said.

“He’s not a killer. Might’ve been under the influence of drugs.” The feeling of a certain kind of numbness returned to Will. A second-hand experience of it. He associated it with one too many drinks. “They knew each other. Have done this before.” Will took the gloves off and walked toward the door. “Look at phone calls, e-mails. He didn’t plan it, so there’ll be something.”

Outside, he gulped down fresh rainy air in an attempt to shake the feeling of desperation he’d found while looking. The man lying on the bed still watched him like he was the only thing that mattered. He would’ve done anything. Anything.

Will took another deep breath and made his way back.

-

Will sat at his desk. The silence around him was only interrupted by typing and the hum of laptops. With his thoughts still on the morning’s case, he was glad he’d prepared a test for his students.

He clicked through the photographs of the body, lingering on the rope around wrists and ankles. The killer had spent a lot of time on that. For all his other flaws, he wasn’t an amateur when it came to this. His presence in Will’s head was silent, waiting for nightfall. There was hunger behind his actions, not unlike the one he’d found in every corner of Hobbs’s thoughts.

Later, in the parking lot, Will found his car in an unusual spot, and remembered he’d been in a hurry that morning. A familiar shape stood a couple of spots away from him. Will let his keys jingle, his feet drag a little, and sure enough Beverly heard him and turned around. Her face went through a series of emotions before a sheepish grin spread on it. “Busted,” she said.

In the gray light of dusk the glowing end of a cigarette caught Will’s attention. He smiled. “I can keep a secret,” he said and unlocked his car but paused on getting in when Beverly walked over.

“Thanks,” she said, still grinning. “You smoke?”

Will shook his head. “My poison comes in bottles.” He was tempted, though. He felt jittery and knew he would need something to distract him from the case. His usual glass of whiskey didn’t do the trick these days. “I tried it once.”

“As a kid?”

Will nodded, leaning back against his car. “Friend of my dad used to smoke. I stole one.”

Beverly’s face lit up like it sometimes did in the examination room or at a crime scene, when she connected dots that others didn’t see yet. “What happened?” she asked around the cigarette.

“Nothing. It tasted bad. My dad never found out.”

Beverly smiled, inhaling smoke one last time, then reached down to stub the cigarette out on the heel of her shoe. She kept the butt, rolled it between her fingers. “My mom found me smoking with a friend when I was fifteen. Had to clean the entire house.”

Will could easily imagine her bright-eyed curiosity and intelligence getting her in trouble at a young age. “Did you get better at hiding it from her?”

Beverly shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. The rain had stopped but it would certainly turn to ice overnight with the rigid wind. She was too lightly dressed for that. “I hardly ever do it.”

“When do you smoke?” Will asked, taking in the tension around her shoulders. If Beverly’s smile was anything to go by, he hadn’t managed to keep his voice from going into interrogation mode. “You uh, you seem a little different,” Will said, borrowing her own words. “Is our killer getting to you?”

Beverly seemed to remember their conversation from a while ago. Her eyes lit up. “I’ve been invited to a wedding,” she said. “My best friend’s getting married.”

Will felt deeply unqualified for a conversation about weddings and best friends.

“Don’t worry,” she added quickly, “I’m not asking for advice.”

“I wouldn’t have anything to offer,” Will said. He watched her take a step backwards, then forward again, her hands hidden in the pockets of her jacket.

“Something so scary about the case, though,” she said. “The loss of control. The willingness to give it up.” She shuddered.

Will could relate. With what he did, giving up control wasn’t an option. Control was his only way to prove those wrong who thought he lost himself in the minds of killers.

“It’s not for everybody,” he said. “Must be what makes it exciting.”

Beverly’s eyebrows lifted. “Is it for you?”

“No,” Will said. If there was a way he wouldn’t sleep at all anymore, so his thoughts could be his own and not wander off into other people's heads in the middle of the night.

They said goodbye when the wind picked up and Beverly shivered in her short, unzipped leather jacket.

Will watched her hurry inside, then started his car.

On his way home, he stopped to buy eggs and milk, and tried to remember if he’d eaten at all that day. His breakfast had been a cup of coffee, but he'd probably had lunch.

The thought of food made his stomach rumble loudly and his mouth water. Maybe he’d skipped lunch, too, then.

At home, he fed the dogs first and made scrambled eggs for himself with grated carrots. A sudden craving for meat made him look through the fridge for sausages. He cooked them in a separate pan. When it was all done, the combined taste of salty eggs, sweet carrots and tender meat let him almost abandon his table manners. Thankfully, there was no one to witness his hasty eating.

Full and warm, the tremor of his fingers ceased and the day drifted away from him.

Outside, the sky was cloudless and starry, the full moon painted the flat fields around Will’s house silver. It was cold, the temperature had dropped like Will had expected it. The ground would be frozen come morning. Will went for a walk with his dogs despite of it, hoping the fresh air would tire them all out, including himself.

He carried Buster most of the way. The week before Buster had hurt his paw when he’d ignored Will’s warnings and stepped into the sharp parts of a disassembled boat motor. Now, he yelped and jerked from Will’s hold every time one of the others found something interesting on the ground that needed exploring.

Will played along and let him down whenever he wanted to. He’d suffered enough the other day, chained up inside while the others were out in the yard. So now, he got to be carried and coddled. Every time Will put him down to join the others, Buster stood defeated at his feet shortly after, again and again until he got tired of it himself and snuggled up against Will’s chest for the rest of the walk.

Buster’s warm moving body made Will aware of his own physical boundaries. It evoked a shivering feeling in his chest he didn’t know what to do with. A sensation of something old he still didn’t want to identify. It was similar to what kissing Alana had felt like.

Will ignored it and put Buster down when they reached the lone street lamp on the street leading to Will’s closest neighbors. In its bright cone of light, Will threw sticks until even the last dog got tired.

Back at home, the dogs gathered around the heater in their respective spots for the night. Will scrubbed the dishes, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and sat down at his desk, a stack of essays before him. He read and scribbled in margins until the letters began to blur before his eyes.

It was past midnight, the house quiet. Will got up, checked windows and doors, turned lights off.

Eventually, there was nothing else to do but to lie down. Sleep wouldn’t come easy this night. Will was restless; his legs twitching, his thoughts going back to the case and the man staring up at him, craving his touch, wanting it so badly.

Will tried to ignore them.

He lay awake for almost an hour before he felt the pull of sleep. The almost-words were soft in his ears, calling his name. Will followed them into sweet silence and empty darkness. But his rest didn’t take long. He woke up a couple times, irritated by noises and dreams alike, but never quite fully conscious.

Around five, he jerked awake one more time, hot and sweaty. He was so hard that it was the first thing he registered after the fear and horror from his dreams faded and made room for arousal.

He rolled onto his belly and pushed his hips into the mattress.

He was safe. He could relax and let go. He was safe.

The image that had woken him came back in vivid colors; a blade sliding through soft flesh, desperate eyes and a wanting mouth.

Abruptly, Will stopped moving.

He tried again a while later, too aroused to stop. On his back now, he let his mind drift to old memories and set a rough rhythm, but it was a lost cause. He could feel his hunger for it vanishing. The images of yesterday’s case interrupted again and again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake them.

His frustrated groan woke Winston who came to sniff and lick at his feet and Will gave up altogether.

-

Hannibal stood at his desk, laying out two books for Will to look at.

Their conversation had quickly led to the still unsolved case. In the examination room earlier that day Will had learned that the victim had been alive during the removal of his genitalia. Two more needles had been found in his groin, as well as fingerprints for which there was no match in their database.

“The removal of the penis and testicles is a severe physical and mental violation,” Hannibal said. “Was your killer punishing his victim?”

“No, it wasn’t supposed to be a punishment.” Will stepped closer. “It was supposed to give pleasure. The cutting, not the removal.”

Hannibal had a pensive look on his face. “Needles may suggest piquerism.” The illustrations he showed Will were both of men, both scarcely clad and wounded. “People affected by it experience excitement when stabbing or cutting their partner,” he explained. “Most people see blood as a reminder of their mortality. They, perhaps, see it as a reminder of their power.”  

“They hold life in their hands?” Will asked.

Hannibal nodded, then turned back to the book. “Although just a medical reference,” he said, “your killer might find pleasure in such depictions and you might find insight.” He held the book out for Will. “The Wound Man. The first depiction dates back to the Middle Ages. It was a profoundly important anatomical guide for surgeons at that time.”

The text next to the wounds suggested treatments and remedies. Will read through it, but didn’t find anything of significance for the case. The Ripper had killed like this once. The guy Will was looking for now was nothing like the Ripper, though. The knowhow and intelligence were missing. Their guy was vague in his indecision and amateurish performance, not a cold-blooded killer.

“I can stop the bleeding.”

A shiver ran down Will’s back. He looked over at Hannibal.

“Cautery,” Hannibal repeated, pointing at the text. “It was used to stop the bleeding.”

Will grimaced. “Our guy definitely didn’t want to stop the bleeding. Enjoyed it way too much.” 

The other illustration Hannibal had laid out was similar; a man wounded by arrows, eyes turned to the sky.

“His – the cuts weren’t meant to hurt.”

“What were they meant for?” 

“To arouse. To show ownership.”

Hannibal stepped back to the seat he usually occupied during their sessions.

Will felt compelled to follow. He left the books on the desk and sat down opposite Hannibal, a tender feeling rising in his chest as he took in Hannibal’s face. The marks from Budge’s attack were still visible; a faint bruise under one eye, a pink spot on his lower lip where a cut had almost healed. Hannibal moved with the same ease as he had done before, but Will couldn’t help feeling responsible.

“Are you familiar with the case of Sada Abe?” Hannibal asked, interrupting Will’s thoughts. After Will’s gentle shake of head, he explained, “She asphyxiated her lover Kichizo Ishida while he slept, then cut off his penis and testicles and carried them with her until police arrested her.”

Will raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, it _was_ quiet a sensation in 1930s Japan,” Hannibal said. His gaze seemed unfocused for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “My aunt admires her to an alarming degree.”

Will’s laugh was unexpected and short.

“After killing her lover, Sada Abe left a message on his thigh,” Hannibal continued. “’We, Sada and Kichizō Ishida, are alone.’ Written in his blood.”

Will saw it clearly. Blood-soaked sheets, a brutalized body, the face swollen from blood flow and lack of oxygen, red and purple splotches on the skin. He took a deep breath, partly to block the image and partly to shrug off the feeling of a sling in his hands. Confused, he rubbed them together and only found damp skin. “I’d say she was right after killing him.”

“Aren’t we all?” Hannibal asked. “Alone. Seeking for connection and someone who sees us as we are.”

Hannibal’s words set off a train of thought Will hadn’t entertained before. His eyes jumped from Hannibal’s impeccable suit and combed back hair to his folded hands in his lap. Palpable sophistication surrounded him. Anyone would assume the lack of a spouse was a choice. But Hannibal’s words indicated he spoke from experience.

Will kneaded at the stiff muscles in his shoulder, then dropped his hand to his thigh. “I suppose,” he said. “Something so strange about that kind of connection.”

“The kind that drives some crazy?”

“That kind.”

“It’s natural to want it,” Hannibal said. At Will’s raised eyebrows he added, “To a certain degree.”

“Eldon Stammets wanted to connect to people and Garrett Jacob Hobbs loved every girl he murdered.”

With some people, love turned into pain. Simple as that.

“I said to a certain degree,” Hannibal smiled. “ _You_ connect to people.”

“Never wanted to keep a piece of someone and carry it around with me.” Will remembered Alana’s lips against his own, and a feeling of loss and missed opportunity came with it. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it. Usually, he got rid of it pretty quickly. This time, for whatever reason, it stuck.

“Sada Abe reported of complete ease after taking her lover’s life,” Hannibal said, pulling Will out of his thoughts. “Does that nullify the connection they shared?”

“No.” Will let his fingers dance along the armrest. “This way they shared something intimate. She was the only one seeing him die. _She_ was the one killing him. That would be forever hers.”

Hannibal had a glint in his eyes, as if he’d found something worth more investigating than the case. “He was married to another woman,” he said. “Have you considered a similar crime in your case?”

Will let his mind drift back to the scene and his reconstruction of the event. Every particle in the air of that room had carried arousal, preserved for him to find and read. He shook his head. “If the victim was in love, it wasn’t reciprocated. The killer was in it for sexual satisfaction.”

“Some would consider it a perversion.”

Will lifted his shoulders. “You must hear a lot about that,” he said, gesturing at the room.

“Occasionally.” 

Will winced in sympathy, his mind quick to provide vivid images of what Hannibal could be exposed to on a daily basis. Piquerism might be the tip of the iceberg. Then again, sex stories probably were more entertaining than Will’s ramblings about murder.

He took a deep breath, leaning forward in the chair. Both cases mixed in his head, a mess of blood and lust and love. “There was no love here, not for the victim,” he said. “I think the killer wanted to stop.”

“Stop?”

“His proclivities,” Will said. “He wanted to stop feeling like he did.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows lifted, almost imperceptibly. “Kill his link to the perversion, kill the perversion itself?”

Will nodded. "Worth a try." 

-

The next day, Jack appeared at the door in the middle of Will’s lecture. Will got the details on the way out. A ring had been found in the victim’s bedroom that didn’t belong to him, and the list of people who had had contact with the victim prior to his death was complete. One man on it stood out like a sore thumb. Former colleague of the victim. He’d quit his job four months before the murder.

When they called him in for questioning, the look on his face was enough evidence for Will.

“It’s him,” Will told Jack, watching the man's practiced smile through the observation mirror.

-

“They were colleagues,” Will said, meandering through Hannibal’s office, hands in his pockets. “Camera footage shows them together the evening of the murder.”

Hannibal sat in his chair, watching Will’s slow steps. “Was that enough for an arrest?”

“It was enough to put him on the suspect list. His resignation four months before the murder was the bigger clue. And the ring, of course.”

“A foolish move,” Hannibal said after a moment of consideration. “He must have known his actions would raise suspicion.”

“He didn’t plan to kill him, not consciously,” Will said. He stopped at Hannibal’s desk and let his fingers brush along the cover of a book. They were shaky, like he’d had too much coffee and too little food – which might actually be true. He recalled the taste of cheap coffee from a plastic cup, a bite of a tuna sandwich before it’d landed in the trash on his way to Jack’s office.

“What did he do with his trophy?”

Will shrugged. “Wouldn’t say.” He inspected the book without taking notice of what he was seeing, then put it back down and walked around Hannibal’s desk to the chair waiting for him. Moving seemed like a good idea to keep the tension in his body from breaking him. He lowered his body carefully into the chair, ready to get up at anytime.

“You seem distressed,” Hannibal noted. “You’ve seen brutalized bodies before. Is it the act of inflicting violence in such an intimate moment that upsets you? Or do you see yourself behind closed eyes, finding satisfaction in it?”

Will would love that. To close his eyes and just let it happen. But that was not how it worked. Even though he had woken up aroused that morning with the scent of blood in his nose, all he’d gotten out of it was guilt that now stirred in his chest again.

He shook his head.

The dreams about the case wouldn’t be so overwhelming if his body listened to him when he was awake. It was stress. It ate at him and didn’t allow him relief in the most basic sense.

“Sometimes, on the verge of sleep, I hear a sound,” Will said. “It’s – it’s different from the others. It doesn’t sound like an animal trapped in my chimney.” He couldn’t remember when he’d started hearing it. It’d been a slow steady beat in his ears at first, like a pounding heart, and then it had morphed into something Will couldn’t recognize anymore.

Hannibal looked curious rather than appalled, which was a welcome change to the usually concerned looks Will got when he talked about things he heard or saw.

“What’s the sound?” Hannibal asked.

Will’s fingers slid over his prickly jaw. An itch at the back of his skull. “I don’t know. Like, like a muffled voice saying something. My body vibrates from it.” Will stopped speaking, fearing he’d said too much. In the silence that followed, the grumble of his stomach was loud and unmistakable. He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Hannibal said. He regarded Will, then leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “If you don’t mind continuing our conversation at my house, I would like you to join me for dinner.”

-

The drive to Hannibal’s house took a while. Will followed the taillights of Hannibal’s car, hoping that a little change in his routine would do him good. 

In the hallway, Hannibal took Will’s jacket and put it on a hanger. A familiar sweater hung in the wardrobe, too small for Hannibal. Will touched the sleeve.

“Abigail’s,” Hannibal said, putting his own coat aside. “She left it the last time she was here.”

“How is she?” Will asked. He tried to imagine Abigail in his own house, playing with the dogs, messing up his desk, coming out with him to fish. It didn’t feel right. Not because he didn’t want her there, but because she had too many bad memories of Will’s face, and his house in the middle of nowhere didn’t particularly give off a welcoming vibe.

“She’s better,” Hannibal said, leading Will to the kitchen. “She has nightmares, but that’s an ordinary and healthy reaction.”

“I’m good with nightmares,” Will said. He put his hands on the spotless counter to keep them still. “Does she- does she have nightmares about me?” he asked carefully.

“She dreams about her time with her father,” Hannibal said. “That has nothing to do with you, Will.”

“It has plenty to do with me. I ended that.”

“And saved her life because of it,” Hannibal said. “Abigail will be fine. She’s very strong.” He stepped closer to Will and squeezed his shoulder, giving him a reassuring look, then he started preparations for their dinner. He took plastic containers from the fridge, a pan and two glasses from a cabinet, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The apron he fastened with quick, practiced motions.

Will felt like he was watching him getting ready to operate, like he was witnessing something sacred. He was reminded of a cramped ambulance, harsh light, and Hannibal’s helping touch.

He himself was standing in the darkness.

“Will?”

Will blinked and was back in Hannibal’s kitchen, leaning against the counter. Hannibal was standing beside him and holding out a glass of wine for him.

They enjoyed the first taste of it in silence.

“Do your conversations help her deal with the nightmares?” Will asked after a while.

“I think they do,” Hannibal said. “She understands that you had to do it.”

Will sighed.

“Give her a little more time,” Hannibal said, then put his glass down. He walked over to where he’d laid out the meat and vegetables. “There’s not much that needs to be done here,” he said. “I prepared the meat this morning, but,” he said with a smirk, “if you don’t mind, you could light the fire in the study.”

“Sure.” Will was glad he could be of any help.

Hannibal's study was dark and cold. Will lit lamps he could make out in the light coming from the hallway; one was standing in the corner of the room, one on Hannibal’s desk. Then he took a look around –  book shelves and paintings along the walls, a fireplace with a couch and an armchair in front of it, a desk. It looked very much like the office Will was so familiar with by now.

The desk was painstakingly organized: three leather-bound notebooks were stacked on top of each other one, one fountain pen next to them, a clock and a phone in one corner. The only other object on the desk was a small black figure of a man sitting on a rock. Will picked it up, surprised by its weight and the cool smooth surface, and wandered over to the rows of books on one wall. The books all appeared to be medical; thick, cloth-bound and with golden letters on their spines. No guilty pleasures to be found. Will put the figure back on its place, now warmed from his touch, and went over to the fire place.

Back in the kitchen, Hannibal was at the stove, preparing a sauce by the looks of it. The meat was in the oven. “Now,” he said, taking the pot off the stove and turning towards Will, “tell me about the sound you hear.” He started putting the dishes aside that he didn’t need any more so he could wipe down the counter.

Will took a deep breath and tried to recall the sound. When he was awake, he could hardly grasp it, even though the almost-words were always there, on the tip of his tongue. “There’s nothing I can tell you,” he said eventually. “I’m not even sure what I’m hearing.”

Hannibal listened carefully, waiting for Will to come to the only sane conclusion.

“It’s stress,” Will said.

“There’re several ways to help manage stress if one continues to ignore the source of it.” Hannibal paused to give Will a pointed look. He’d made his thoughts on Jack and his persistence when it came to Will’s work clear. “Diet, exercise and sexual intercourse are the easiest to control. Do you take good care of all three factors?”

“No,” Will said. “Apart from exercise. If taking long walks with my dogs counts.”

Hannibal smiled. “Walks are a good start and my kitchen is always open to you. As for the other, you’re an attractive man, there must be plenty of opportunity.”

Will crossed his arms and lowered his gaze to the floor. An answer started to form on his tongue but it took too long, and in the silence Hannibal stop wiping the counter. He watched Will closely, not with concern, but an openness that Will couldn’t hide from. It was obvious that Hannibal waited for some kind of input to solve this puzzle. His curiosity was palpable.

Will stepped away from the counter. “We’re not talking about that.”

“Very well,” Hannibal said, folding the cloth and putting it aside. “Keep in mind that you’re my friend and I want to help you.”

Like how he’d helped Silvestri's donor.

That night, on the ride back in the hot space of Jack’s car and its darkness, Will had seen a beating heart in Hannibal’s hands. Hannibal helped others. He could help Will with this.

“I – uh, I’m not –”

“Do you have trouble maintaining an erection?” Hannibal asked, voice calm and gentle. He’d sure come across patients who struggled with giving name to their problems; nodding was easier than saying it out loud, after all.

Will put his face in his hands, inhaling deeply. “No,” he sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” The words left him in a rush. His own body seemed to turn against him, urging him to figure this out. Better to get it over with than draw even more attention to it by not answering. “I have trouble with,” he swallowed, “letting go. It’s a new development.”

“Then it most certainly is related to stress. If there’re no other issues.” Hannibal waited a beat. “Are there other issues?”

Will shook his head. Stress seemed like a logical and sane reason for that sound, too. Will had to eat more regularly, get a good night’s sleep once in a while, and finally get off again.

In the soft light of Hannibal’s kitchen, with the smell of food in the air and Hannibal’s attention on him, it seemed like a solid plan. Will hoped it would still be the same in the stillness of his own house when the dogs slept and Will’s thoughts were the only thing keeping him company.

Hannibal regarded him. “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

“Excuse me?”

“When was the last time you ejaculated?” Hannibal repeated, unfazed.

Will wished he could handle the situation as professionally as Hannibal did. He turned away, thinking, calculating. The last time had been during the early hours of the morning, in the steamed-up bathroom, with his forehead pressed to the tile, his mind blank. A few rough tugs had brought him to his knees. “Couple of weeks,” he estimated.

“Do you often orgasm in your sleep?” Hannibal asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, as if to spare Will more embarrassment. “Nocturnal emissions are quite common when there’s no relief otherwise,” he continued, “but a conscious orgasm is what you should aim for to lower stress and anxiety.”

Will picked up his glass and took a long drink. “Right.”

“May I assume that there was no interaction with partners during this time?”

“Yes.” It took longer to figure that one out. Years was the sad answer. A shitty motel room and a woman he’d met through one of his cases and who had obviously hoped Will would be easier to handle when arousal stripped away his uniqueness.

Before Will could speak, Hannibal broke the prolonged silence. “Does the social construct of virginity apply to you?”

“I’m not a virgin, Dr. Lecter,” Will said. He saw himself on his knees, mouth busy, eyes closed. Every time his dates had looked over his oddness in favor of fucking a pretty face, he’d ended up on his knees, face pressed between their thighs, getting drunk on their taste.

He longed for it with such intensity for a moment that his body trembled. He bent forward a little. The desire that soared hot and heavy in his body felt like a punch to the gut.

Will cleared his throat. “I just, I don’t enjoy social interactions a lot and not a lot of people are like me.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. They hung in the silence surrounding them. Will wanted to take them back, but one part of him was glad he couldn’t.

“Like you?” Hannibal asked. He had a concerned little frown on his forehead.

Will stepped away so he wouldn’t be able to see it. He crossed his arms and walked back and forth in the small space between the counter and the fridge. “Putting out on the first date, choosing partners I don’t know rather than trying to have a long-term relationship.” Will shrugged. “Some would say I’m not a fan of emotional commitment.”

Hannibal took in his nonchalance, clearly seeing that it was put on. “We talked about perversion in our last session. Do you worry it applies to you?”

“No, no, it’s not a perversion,” Will said quickly. He hated how his own year-long doubts and conflicts made his voice sound; accusatory, a little rougher than usual. In the time before Hannibal spoke again, Will’s thoughts very almost too loud to bear. He knew not to ask for things he wouldn’t get. He was damaged goods, after all. Good enough for a night. Too broken for everything else.

“Will,” Hannibal said, bringing Will’s thoughts to a halt. “I’m not suggesting it is. I would say it’s a fairly common thing, nowadays.” He waited until Will turned around to face him. “You sound dismissive about your own choices and I’m concerned it’s compensation for something. That is all.” 

Will couldn’t even begin to sort through that. Not now. He’d do that later, in the privacy of his home when the world was asleep and he was awake. 

Hannibal seemed to sense his turmoil and let the silence soothe it. He drank more wine, then put the glass down. “First encounters influences subsequent behavior,” he said. “Tell me about your first sexual experience.”

Will laughed; a short release of breath he couldn’t stop when he felt irritated. “Tell me about _your_ first sexual experience.”

Hannibal wasn’t shy to share his story. “A short spring romance during my first stay in Florence, many years ago now,” he said. “She worked near the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana. I would spend my mornings there or at the Galleria degli Uffizi and then walk along the Arno to pick her up for a midday rendezvous.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the memory clearly fond. “We were both young. The Italian cuisine couldn’t keep up with our appetite for too long.”

Will returned Hannibal tender smile, and tried to imagine him at a young age, inexperienced. It was almost impossible. His thoughts wandered to his own version of that story – woods in the fresh air of a summer evening, the scent of greenery and a campfire, the sound of water nearby, and further away the chitchat of their friends and teachers. A sweaty hand in his, a soft voice whispering in his ear. Will only got his first kiss after dirtying his pants.

He didn’t feel like sharing that, or any of the short relationships he’d had in college and the one-night stands after that. He was scared of what Hannibal might see in there.

He emptied his glass. “I don’t think people knew what to do with me.”

“Always the new boy.” Hannibal seemed to remember. “Always the stranger.”

Will nodded. “I didn’t have many friends but no bullies either. I think the boys thought I was too –” He struggled with words. “I could stand my ground.” ~~~~

Hannibal looked oddly proud, a gentle smile on his lips that gave Will pause.

Thoughts came quickly. Both, his blessing and curse.

Will looked away as if that would stop the inevitable conclusion forming in his head. There didn’t seem to be another explanation for Hannibal’s behavior – except these days Will saw and heard things that weren’t there. It had to be the stress. Hannibal wasn’t interested in him. He couldn’t be.

“And the girls,” Hannibal asked, “what did they think?” He refilled their glasses, his fingers brushing Will’s as he handed him his glass.

“They-they liked me. Then later on some wanted to change me.”

Hannibal took that in with a smile that made Will sweat. Maybe Will wasn’t projecting his own feelings onto him. Maybe he had been blind all along.

They had dinner in the kitchen, sitting at the counter. 

Will ate slowly, his hunger replaced by a flutter in his stomach, a dull unsated ache. One tiny shameful part of him had hoped to continue their conversation, so he could figure out if the things he saw were true or not. But the bruise on Hannibal’s face reminded him that he had to leave. He wasn’t well enough to be around people. He would pull Hannibal into his world again if he stayed.

At some point, between finishing dinner and putting the dishes away, that decision wavered. Will didn’t go for his jacket when they turned the lights off in the kitchen. Instead he followed Hannibal to the study and ended up sitting on the couch opposite him, nursing a glass of brandy.

He felt like he was watching himself driving off a cliff in slow-motion.

“My advice remains the same,” Hannibal said, noticing his distraction. “Nothing quite compares to the effect shared intimacy has on the body. Physically and mentally.” 

Blurry memories of shared intimacy flooded Will’s senses; soft hips in his hands, the breathy sounds some of them had made, the high and loud ones from others, their _warmth_. He would hold still for them to adjust to him, and then, and _then_ —

Will swallowed the rest of his drink in a single gulp and put the glass on the coffee table. He was shaking and starting to sweat, his pelvis all heated up. This time it wasn’t form a bloody dream, though. This time he could allow it.

Maybe.

“You’re not offering, are you, Doctor?” Even as he said it, Will suspected he wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of it easily. Hannibal seemed like a guy who enjoyed challenges. Besides, he was good at reading people. He knew there was one part of Will that was deadly serious. The increasing loudness of Will’s body language had to be proof enough; his fingers twitched, his gaze was jumpy.

Hannibal remained silent and observed until the air in the room seemed to thicken. The only sound was an occasional crackle of burning wood.

Will couldn’t take it for long. “Sorry,” he said, lifting his hand to his neck. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No apology necessary,” Hannibal said. He got up from his armchair and sat down next to Will. Their knees brushed in what felt oddly intimate for an ordinary touch. “It’s natural to want human touch.”

From this close, the finer lines on Hannibal’s face were visible, around his eyes and mouth, on his forehead. His lips were a deep red. Will’s focus lingered there before it moved up to the yellowish bruise under one eye. He wanted to touch, but he didn’t want to hurt Hannibal. He’d been hurt enough already.

And still, Will turned towards him. Their hands brushed, fleeting and short, then locked in a tight grip, an anchor in the sudden chaos of Will’s desires. “Human touch,” Will said, his heart in his mouth. “Is that what you’re offering?”

“Whatever you need,” Hannibal said. “To chase away those sounds.”

Will had done this with Alana before, now he was in Hannibal’s house, almost begging for it. He knew what it looked like: a clutch for balance and normality.

“This isn’t–” Will gently disentangled their fingers. “I’m not broken, Dr. Lecter,” he said even though he’d felt like it for a while now. Like he was fading and somebody else took his place. “This isn’t some kind of game or –”

“No,” Hannibal said. “You’re not broken.” His gaze trailed from Will’s eyes to his chin and back again, slowly, like he didn’t want to miss a thing. “You’re one of a kind.”

The same feeling from before overcame Will, the same inevitability. Maybe Hannibal wouldn’t be just doing him a favor. Maybe he wanted it, too.

That thought gave Will the last push he needed to lean in and kiss him. He did it gently, his shaking hands coming up to hold onto Hannibal’s neck, afraid he might pull away. Hannibal’s lips were plush against his own, a little damp. Will felt himself getting hard over it like a teenager. He deepened the kiss anyway; a short, heated touch of tongues, there and gone, then again a little slower.

Will’s fingers, hungry and impatient to have everything at once, dropped to Hannibal’s shoulders, slid over his arms and back, over silky fabric. Will had experience with soft voices and hands, even softer bodies; Hannibal was nothing like that – a strong back and broad chest, strong strong hands that clutched Will’s waist, sharp teeth.

He was warm and solid and safe.

Will groaned into the kiss, pushed against that strength, only to find himself for the first time weaker than his partner. Hannibal didn’t budge. Will had to lie down and pull Hannibal on top of him for more contact. His knees spread in an almost forgotten motion to welcome the bulk of Hannibal’s body. He shuddered from it. He’d forgotten how a warm body pressed against his own felt, how good a simple embrace could be.

When they broke apart, their breath was audible, and with Hannibal’s mouth sliding to neck, Will’s was getting louder. He felt quick teeth on his skin, a gentle tongue, rough stubble.

Another shudder ran through is body.

“Very sensitive,” Hannibal observed, leaning over him. He was watching Will with focus that made Will’s skin crawl and his cock fill out. He wanted to pull Hannibal down so he couldn’t see all his desire laid out for him. But it would pay out. It’d be easier to let go with Hannibal there. Hannibal would contain the noise that spilled from his imagination. He would make it better.

Hannibal smiled down at him, as if he could read his thoughts. He touched Will’s jaw gently with his thumb. “Do you have something specific in mind?”

“Anything,” Will breathed, his cheeks heating up. He truly would take anything, though. His body was on fire, the beginnings of an erection pressing against Hannibal’s hip, a shivery tension in his limbs.

Hannibal kissed him again, short and sweet. “Stay right here,” he said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Will did as he was told. He closed his eyes, too, not wanting to think about anything other than the fire in his belly.

When Hannibal came back with a towel and what Will assumed was a bottle of lube, he sat back down between Will’s legs like they’d done this a hundred times before. Like he belonged there. He was determined but gentle with Will. His hands steady as they unfastened Will’s jeans.

He did it slowly, like this was as much a gift for him as it was for Will, like he wanted to memorize every detail. Will would’ve urged him on if it didn’t feel so damn good to be given this much attention. His cock jerked visibly in his underwear when Hannibal spread his jeans open. A dark spot stained the grey cotton in a clear sign of willingness.

Hannibal saw it, but didn’t hurry up. He pulled the fabric down lazily, exposing him, and looked at him until Will grew hot under his gaze. It should’ve felt less scary; Hannibal knew every ugly thought living in his head. Will’s breath still stuttered in his chest when Hannibal smeared a small amount of lube between his hands and wrapped his fingers around him.

His touch was neither gentle nor rough, just a solid warm grip stroking from tip to base, spreading lube and pre-come.

Will closed his eyes in bliss.

This was his way out of the trap he’d unknowingly set for himself. The constant clicking of his thoughts, his restless eyes and tired body – Hannibal would make it go away.

“You’re doing well,” Hannibal said after a while of slick sounds and breathless gasps.

This part was easy; Will had woken up often enough hard and ready, only for the pleasure to turn into agony with every pull of his own hand. The part Will was almost scared of these days was yet to come. With Hannibal’s steady touch, though, he was getting there.

“Like – like I said,” Will gasped, “letting go is the problem.”

“And you don’t believe I can do that?” Hannibal asked. He leaned down, bit at the corner of Will’s mouth, pushed his tongue between his lips for a hard kiss.

Will shuddered. God, he’d like that. Just this once. He’d be so much better afterwards. He would never ask for it again. “It has nothing to do with you,” Will said when Hannibal broke the kiss. “I can’t do it myself.”

The grip around him tightened, alternating between long slow strokes and quicker ones around the head of Will’s cock. Hannibal’s other hand was gentle on Will’s balls. It was good. So damn good that Will found himself rushing toward the edge.

“You’re getting wet,” Hannibal observed. “Does this happen usually?”

Will’s hips jerked up into the touch. “I – uh, yes.” He dug his fingers into the cushion, almost there. 

Then came the agonizing ache of too much stimulation and yet not enough to bring him release. Will started to writhe, thighs jerking when Hannibal concentrated too long on the head of his cock. He pushed his hips up into the warm silky touch anyway, chasing that last push he needed to let go.

Hannibal hummed in understanding. His hand slowed down.

Will feared he would pull it away and give up, now that he knew. “Oh, please,” he said, grabbing his wrist, “come on, please.”

“Will.” Hannibal waited until Will looked up into his eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “I’ll keep going.” He squeezed a little harder. “Do you understand?”

Will nodded.

“Good,” Hannibal said. “Then relax for me.”

Will took a deep breath and unclenched his fingers from the couch cushions. He felt his shoulders loosen a little, too.

“Good. That’s good,” Hannibal said. He reached for the lube but didn’t let go of Will, sensing probably that only so little was needed for their efforts to dissolve. He poured more lube on Will’s cock and resumed the steady pace. “I don’t have to remind you of the power of thoughts, Will,” he said. “What do you think about usually?”

A bead of sweat ran down Will’s neck. “I – I see myself.” He stopped talking when Hannibal quickened his touch for a moment. “I use my mouth.”

“To pleasure others?”

Will nodded, eyes closed. They fluttered open when he felt Hannibal’s hand against lips.

“Show me,” Hannibal said.

Will grabbed his hand with both of his and started to lick his palm; long drags, then quicker ones concentrating on one small spot. The space between Hannibal’s middle and ring finger was where he pressed in, thrust his tongue a couple of times. The scent and taste were old, his mind struggling to remember. They mingled with the smell of his own desire, of Hannibal’s faint cologne.

“I see,” Hannibal said. “Is it easier imagining a woman with your eyes closed? Close them if that is what you need. I want to help you, Will.”

Will did, groaning against Hannibal’s hand when Hannibal stroked him a little faster. His thoughts were too scattered to come up with anything specific. At one point, he took Hannibal’s fingers in his mouth. There was no difference for his arousal, imagining a woman or Hannibal seemed the same at this very moment. Anything, anything to make him come.

Three of Hannibal’s fingers stretched his mouth. He sucked with an unfamiliar and sharp hunger, only stopping when he felt himself teetering on the edge, closer than he’d been in weeks.

“Please,” he whispered, urgent. He was clutching Hannibal’s hand, pressing it to his chest to keep him where he was. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Hannibal promised, leaning down to kiss his neck again. “You’re safe, Will,” he whispered against his ear, and Will fell.

Strong spasms ran through his body, his shoulders lifted off the couch. A string of rough whimpers fell from his mouth. He couldn’t believe it, but he was coming. He was coming and he was dirtying Hannibal’s hand and clothes with thick spurts of semen and he didn’t care at all.

It lasted longer than he remembered his orgasms to last. Hannibal didn’t stop squeezing and stroking him until he was finished. By then, there were tears in Will’s eyes.

“Good,” Hannibal said. “Very good, Will.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Good,” Hannibal said. “Very good, Will.”

Will was looking at him the same way worshipers looked at the sky and at statues of their saints. Tears clumped his eyelashes into dark spears, but he was present and alert.

Lovely, lovely boy, denying himself pleasure for so long that a simple touch had stripped him from shame and pride.

Hannibal wanted to devour him.

One room in his memory palace was solely for Will: his blood-speckled shaking face in Hobbs’ kitchen, their conversations since then, and now, the beauty of his surrender lodged itself there, too.

The room was vast, near the center of Hannibal’s mind. Will had found it without any effort, transformed the silent chamber into one that called his name every hour of the day.

But Hannibal couldn’t be blamed. Will was a work of art. From his armor of brashness and a quick tongue to his true self that was sharper than a knife’s edge. He moved in his own rhythm; a mesmerizing tune of unexpected tenderness and ruthlessness that Hannibal wanted to learn the notes to.

Beneath his fingers, Will moved. A deep breath pressed his chest up against Hannibal’s hand. He was still clutching at it and pressing it to his pounding heart. In his other hand, Hannibal felt him soften and let go of him gently, even though his fingers itched to touch and press every tender spot in Will’s body. He wanted to dissect him so he could put him back together. To show him the beauty he looked at and failed to see.

“Thank you,” Will breathed. He seemed to remember where he was. His cheeks turned bright red. If that was because of his nudity or his eager acceptance of Hannibal’s touch with a simple thank-you, Hannibal didn’t know. He didn’t care either way; Will was blushing for him like an adolescent boy, which made for a lovely sight.

Hannibal hadn’t expected this evening to turn out like this. Carnal desire and its fulfillment was, after all, the cheapest form of manipulation. Hannibal abstained from it, usually. With Will he couldn’t seem to help himself. “It was my pleasure,” he said truthfully. “May I suggest a different kind of release?”

Will watched silently as Hannibal wiped him clean with the towel, considering the offer. Then he nodded.

“It would require a little more nakedness,” Hannibal said and started taking Will’s clothes off. Shoes and socks first, placed next to the coffee table. Then the ruined jeans and underwear, the old unfitting button-down shirt Will seemed to like. Beneath that, Will wore a white cotton t-shirt that was soaked under his arms and around his throat ─ he smelled _divine_. He hadn’t bothered with the atrocious aftershave, there was only his own scent; the musk of his desire merging with sweat.

Hannibal pressed his nose to the center of his chest and inhaled. The vast room in his mind sang.

“S-sorry,” Will said. He sat up enough to pull the t-shirt over his head, giving Hannibal a wonderful view of shifting muscles under damp warm skin, then lay back down and dropped the shirt to the floor. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked curiously.

Ah, so that was what he had come up with.

“Perhaps another time, if that is what you want,” Hannibal said. He was aroused, undeniably so, but Will was at the center of his attention tonight. Hannibal wanted to spoil him. “Do you have experience with prostate massages?” he asked, reaching for the bottle of lubricant.

Will licked his lips. “I don’t.” His thighs spread a little anyway.

Hannibal wanted to put his teeth in the soft pale flesh and test its give. Will‘s trust was endless in this moment, he would allow it. But a hasty move and revelation of Hannibal’s hunger might be counterproductive, and Hannibal wanted to study the sounds Will made when he was overwhelmed by pleasure and not pain.

He readied his fingers with a generous amount of lubricant. “I’ve been told I’m good at it.”

“Not by patients, I hope,” Will said, watching Hannibal closely, mind obviously busy filling in blanks.

Hannibal smirked. “That would be highly unethical.”

“Good thing I’m not your patient then,” Will said. “We’re simply having conversations.”

“We are,” Hannibal agreed. He warmed the lubricant between his fingers. “I believe this will better your current situation.” It would for sure provide a good night’s sleep. Will would come back for that sweet and easy peace the moment Jack sent him looking in dark places again.

“Okay,” Will said, taking a deep breath. “Show me.” 

Hannibal spread his thighs with a gentle touch and pressed one finger between his buttocks. “I want you to look at me while I do this.”

“Why?”

“Assurance that you’re doing fine,” Hannibal said. In honesty, he wanted to see how long Will could keep the eye contact. He pressed against him, his finger going in easily. Will was relaxed and not as opposed to the idea as Hannibal had expected him to be. Greedy little thing. Hannibal added a second finger just to watch him struggle with it.

A high moan fell from Will’s mouth, his jaw going slack and then jutting out a little as he became familiar with the stretch.

“Are you all right, Will?”

“Yeah,” Will said, eyes half-closed. At the first touch to his prostate, he looked away. “Feels like I gotta piss.”

Hannibal smirked at his reddening face. “Give it a moment.”

To Hannibal’s pleasure, impatience and hunger directed every one of Will’s decisions tonight. He pressed down for a harder touch and his mouth fell open on a sharp intake of breath. “Oh…” he said. His hips shivered, uncertain.

Hannibal didn’t let him move away from it, delighted to discover that Will’s body was as sensitive as his mind was. He rubbed around the edge of his prostate until Will’s hips started to move again, in slow languid rolls. He was burning hot around Hannibal’s fingers, eyes unfocused, but he figured out quickly that on Hannibal’s fingers he could find that stimulation he still craved.

He was breathtaking.

God and Nature had given Will a brilliant mind and a strong body that society had made him fear – Hannibal would teach him how to use it; how to take pleasure, how to kill, how to embrace his own power and not fear it.

“Oh God.” Will’s voice pulled Hannibal from his thoughts; he’d increased the pressure against Will’s prostate and quickened the rub of his fingers without noticing.

Will would, without doubt, be a danger to him if Hannibal didn’t manage to contain him. It was a clear image before Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal was a palace, but Will a flood, seeping through the foundations Hannibal had spent years building.

“I’m – I,” Will gasped.

“I’m here, Will,” Hannibal told him. “Don’t fight it.”

Hannibal had planned to give him a foretaste, but Will’s helpless gasps and the tremors in his pelvis suggested a climax approaching. Hannibal debated for a moment whether to let him have it or not. Will was beautiful in his suffering and Hannibal would enjoy his restlessness afterwards. Would Will demand it from him if he stopped, or would he simply try to recreate Hannibal’s touch later?

Hannibal would never know. Will was so very brave and open for him. That deserved a reward. He provided the pressure and pace that seemed to work best for Will and leaned down to get a taste of the blush spreading from Will’s face down to his throat and chest. “You’re doing very well,” he said. “All you have to do is relax.”

Will went still, eager to comply. The little frown of concentration between his eyebrows deepened with every passing moment, with every stroke of Hannibal’s fingers. He was very close now. His body trembled in anticipation for a while longer, then seized up suddenly.

Will’s eyes flew open, his half-words dissolved into breathy gasps as a tremor went through his legs. He gripped Hannibal’s fingers in quick uncontrollable twitches, hips and thighs shivering. “What,” he gasped. He almost looked scared of the pleasure.

“That’s good, Will,” Hannibal told him. “Perfect.”

Will whimpered, grabbing Hannibal’s shoulders and holding on tightly as if to ground himself. “I didn’t – didn’t know it’d feel so – ” He stopped talking when another wave of pleasure shook his body. His eyes closed in bliss this time. 

With his flushed skin, damp hair sticking to his forehead, and the pleasure so evident on his face, he looked like a masterpiece. Hannibal wanted to keep him here for hours. But after another convulsion, Will grabbed his wrist and gasped, “Enough.”

It could feel overwhelming the first time. Gently, Hannibal pulled his fingers out, and Will slumped back against the couch.

“How do you feel?” Hannibal asked, leaning over him. There was a calmness on Will’s face that Hannibal hadn’t seen before.

“I feel – I feel good,” Will whispered, licking his lips. They were a vibrant red. Hannibal traced their natural downward curve and slight asymmetry with his thumb and felt them stretch into a grin.

Will’s laugh was short and breathless, a little rough, then his eyes opened and he tried to sit up. “I feel really good,” he said. “I can – what can I do?” Despite his efforts, he still looked like he was on the verge of sleep.

Hannibal pulled him against his chest and put his arms around him. “You’ve done enough, Will,” he said. He held him close, inhaling deeply. Will carried the subtle scent of opportunity, of a life shared in all its beauty. Hannibal hadn’t imagined that for himself. Until now.

He put one hand on the back of Will’s head, stroking his damp hair and cradling him in his arms as Will caught his breath. How fortunate Hannibal was to find two people at once who fit so perfectly in his arms. A whim of fate that he welcomed eagerly.

It was a pity Will didn’t see yet. Hannibal had to make sure he did.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The clock on Hannibal’s desk was ticking loudly. When Hannibal glanced at it, a quarter of an hour had passed. He had a sudden urge to place the clock face down, but he reined his impatience in. Forty-five minutes until his next patient. In the grand scheme of things, this was nothing at all, Hannibal reminded himself.

He could wait.

He closed his eyes and went back to the place he’d left a moment ago; the smell of old books and leather mixing with Will’s arousal and sweat, his muscles straining to breaking point – a moving breathing thing in the darkness of Hannibal’s house. He’d gasped and moaned, and Hannibal had watched and watched, and the walls of his house had absorbed the melody Will’s voice and heartbeat had created.

A shiver ran through Hannibal’s body. He’d spent an alarming amount of time thinking about Will’s soft mouth and urgent desire, and his body reacted to it, naturally, primed to give and take alike.

He opened his eyes.

The paper before him was blank, but not for long. He drew the shape of Will’s face, his strong jaw and messy hair. His mouth he drew with gentle strokes to indicate that the lips were swollen and wet, soft to the touch. Then his mind wandered to Will’s pleading eyes, the shine of tears.

Soon Will was looking up at him from the paper with that same expression that Hannibal couldn’t stop thinking about. He imagined he could still feel a delicate ache in his hand from giving him pleasure, and wished it could spread through his entire body. He would enjoy any kind of mark Will left on him, be it from pleasure or pain.

Another time, perhaps.

At precisely seven o’clock, Hannibal put the drawing aside and crossed the room to open the door. He was pleased to find Will on his feet, and even more so to see the tension in his shoulders. Will was, after all, his favorite pastime at the moment, and whatever had caused his irritation this time, Hannibal wanted to know.

“Hello, Will,” he said. “Please come in.”

Will’s mouth twitched with a smile as he stepped into Hannibal’s office. He walked straight to the chaise lounge to throw his jacket down, then put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath.

Four days ago, he’d been spread out on Hannibal’s couch, pliant and satisfied. Even the morning after, he’d been soft, beautiful in his rediscovered calmness, his smile gentle, his hands steady at the breakfast table.

But they hadn’t seen each other since that morning, and now, Will watched Hannibal’s steps like a wild animal, nothing of that calm left. He didn’t move until Hannibal sat down in his chair. Perhaps Will had changed his mind about their evening together. A weekend had passed. Hannibal imagined those lasted long in Will’s little house.

Perhaps Will had figured out that Hannibal’s touch hadn’t been the only thing to help him sleep that night. A good sedative had made sure his nightmares stayed away.

Hannibal crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. “You seem angry.”

Will shook his head. “You said we could handle this like adults,” he said, stepping closer. “Make it the way I like things. A one-night stand.”

Hannibal hadn’t used those exact words. “I did.”

“What if I don’t want it to be like that?” Will took another step toward Hannibal’s chair. 

Hannibal had a number of drugs ready for a different kind of session. He had planned to break Will like that tonight. But Will was radiating the same desire he had last time, insatiable in his hunger, if not as desperate. How beautifully he would blush if Hannibal pointed that out.

Hannibal kept his observations to himself. “What do you want then?”

“I want –” Will took a deep breath and bent down to put his hands on Hannibal’s knees. They were like fire. “I came to offer something in return.” Slowly, he went to his knees and pushed Hannibal’s legs apart with a gentle touch. “I got off, you didn’t. It doesn’t seem fair,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face. His words seemed practiced.

In the dim light of Hannibal’s office, he looked soft, innocent. Hannibal felt his body respond because he knew Will was more than that. “I’m not asking for anything in return, Will,” he still told him, curious to see how Will would proceed. “I’m happy with how things went.”

Will gave him a long look. His hands didn’t move away. There was no hesitation or doubt in his posture. Not this time. “I’m asking if I can blow you,” he said finally, leaning closer to Hannibal’s face. “Are you turning down the offer?” He captured Hannibal’s mouth in a hungry kiss as if to convince him in this way.

Hannibal let him, relishing the now familiar pace of their mouths coming together, lips caressing, then opening. A hot touch of tongues.

When they broke apart, Will’s hot hands slid from Hannibal’s shoulders to his waist. “I never-“ Will’s voice was shaky. “I never come first,” he said like he was sharing a far more valuable secret than those he had already shared with Hannibal in this office.

Hannibal took his hungry gaze in, wondering if the mirrors in his brain usually reflected the desire of others. “I see,” he said. “Was it arousing to only think about yourself for a while?”

“Yes,” Will said. He sounded breathless. Gently, he unfastened Hannibal’s clothes, pushed fabric aside until he found skin.

Hannibal’s body reacted all at once to the gentle touch. He thickened in Will’s hand, his chest expanded with deep inhalation. “Did you masturbate over the weekend?” he asked.

Will shook his head. “I mean –”

“The problem still remains?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal hummed. “What should we do about that?” he asked. “More of the same or something else?”

Will’s look was calculating, then it dropped to Hannibal’s erection in his hand. He tightened his grip. “Just come. I – I need to know.” He leaned down and took the head of Hannibal’s cock between his lips, fumbling with his own belt.

Hannibal knew intimately that sex was not the only bodily pleasure one could indulge in, and most often not the greatest one as well. Yet Will, on his knees for Hannibal, mouth tight and hot around him, made him feel like nothing else could compete with the pleasure this simple act brought.

Hannibal put his fingers in Will’s soft hair, dragged them down to his neck.

Under his hands, Will started to sweat. His head bobbed up and down slowly, inexpertly, and Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat. He permitted himself a few moments of complete indulgence. His eyes closed as he pushed his hips up and tightened his hands in Will’s hair. He committed Will’s hurt groan to memory, his hot skin under his hands, his mouth still yielding even though he was clearly overwhelmed, then Hannibal had to look at him again. He gentled his touch, stilled his hips.

Will looked up at him and pulled off. “Is it good?”

Hannibal’s hands closed around his throat and pulled him up for a hard kiss. “Perfect,” he told him, truthfully. He wanted Will raw and honest. “It’s perfect, Will.”

Will’s eyes fluttered shut. He was quick to suck him back into his mouth. Once or twice, Will tried to take him deeper but gagged. His other arm was jumping rhythmically, hand buried between his own thighs. Hannibal wanted to stop him so he could later take care of it himself, but more than that he wanted to see what would become of Will when Hannibal fulfilled every wish he had. Hannibal wondered if those blind spots in Will's mind reserved for the things close to his heart would find and see him soon. 

Tonight, Hannibal wouldn't find the answer. Tonight was all about this simple request. 

Will moved faster now, making soft sounds against Hannibal's skin. Beautiful Will. Hannibal tightened his hands around him. “You're so good to me, Will,” he told him, enjoying the high sound Will made and the way his shoulders started to shake. The scent of Will's release was sudden and hot. It set off Hannibal’s own orgasm.

For the first time in a long while, Hannibal let it consume him entirely, not caring about being polite. His eyes closed for a second. When he opened them again he watched Will struggle to swallow what Hannibal had given him. Ejaculate leaked from the corners of Will’s mouth and down to his fist. Hannibal watched for a while longer before he pulled the pocket square from his breast pocket and handed it to Will. “Was it good?” he asked him. Will’s penis was slowly softening, still wet and flushed. “Will it be easier now on your own?”

Will nodded, but he seemed distracted. Sweat made his face and the base of his throat glow. The sweet scent of fever started to rise around them.

It’d be a shame if Will confused this with a hallucination.

Hannibal took his face in his hands and kissed him, deep and slow, marveling at their mixed taste. “Come to me, Will,” he said against Will’s mouth. “Whenever you need this, come to me.”

“Yes,” Will said.


	4. Chapter 4

Will stood at the window in Hannibal’s office and watched the bare trees outside sway in the wind.  

“How are you feeling today?” Hannibal said. “Is your head better?”

After their last session, Will had woken up from a splitting headache in the middle of the night, and had called Hannibal without checking the time. The details of how he’d gotten home had been hazy to him. Hannibal’s office, the drive back, going to bed – everything had been a blur in his throbbing head until Hannibal’s steady voice helped him make sense of it.

In retrospect, Will knew he had overreacted. He felt his face heat. “Much better, yes, and sorry for calling at such an hour.” He made his way to the chair waiting for him and sat down. “I – I was confused.”

“No apology necessary,” Hannibal said. “You did the right thing. I’d rather miss sleep than leave you alone in such a state.”

“I’m better,” Will said. His head didn’t feel like it was about to explode anymore and the sounds he usually heard had calmed a little. What else could he ask for? “I feel good.”

Hannibal regarded him and seemed to come to the same conclusion. “That’s good,” he said. He smiled at Will, his inspecting gaze softening. “I’m encouraging you to call again if you need me.” His tone suggested that he wasn’t just talking about headaches anymore.

Will let out a breath of laughter, his hands starting to sweat. He tried to imagine what a late-night call to Hannibal with his other problem would be like, and found that he couldn’t. Despite the fact that he’d practically begged for it both times, Will still couldn’t quite understand how he’d ended up there with his _psychiatrist_ of all people. A voice in his head reminded him that Hannibal was his friend, first and foremost, and Will clung to that notion.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said.

Hannibal looked at him with an unreadable expression. “Were our activities of no help at all?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t feel like myself these last couple of days,” Will said. “But thank you for your help.”

“I told you, Will, you don’t have to thank me, and you can come to me whenever you want to.”

Hannibal _had_ said that. He’d been so gentle with Will, so good, and his offer sounded genuine, almost eager.

Will ran his hands over his thighs. “It’s starting to sound like you want this,” he said. “A lot.”

“I want to help you.”

Will nodded, humming. “But you want something else, too.” The more he thought about it, the easier it was to see the signs of attraction – the way Hannibal looked at him, his undivided attention and gentle hands. “Acquiring a taste for the mentally unstable, Dr. Lecter?”

“You’re not unstable, Will,” Hannibal said without missing a beat, and Will felt the tension that had crept into his posture vanish at once; his shoulders slumped as he leaned back into the chair with a sigh. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear those words from someone else other than himself.

“Of course, instability would free you of any responsibility for your actions,” Hannibal said.

Will exhaled loudly. He had the urge to cross his arms, but didn’t. “I didn’t want to – I haven’t done this in a while.”

“That shouldn't matter," Hannibal said. "In my experience, not one partner is like the other.”

“Partner,” Will said more to himself than to Hannibal. He eyed Hannibal’s suit and crossed legs, recalled the image he’d had of him before that night at Hannibal’s house. It still felt strange that they fit together so effortlessly when they were so different. “I wondered why you were in a position to offer a hand.”

“I have affairs,” Hannibal said. “Occasionally.” He had a twinkle in his eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that made Will’s neck heat. Maybe that was how he charmed his _partners_ usually.

“Is that what this is?” Will tried to keep his voice even. “An affair?”

“It is whatever you need it to be.”

“That doesn’t seem fair to you.”

Hannibal didn’t say anything as if he knew that with a little more time Will’s thoughts would wander back to the way Hannibal had taken his pleasure; silent except to praise Will, gentle except in moments of impatience and hunger.

He had enjoyed himself.

“You said you don’t want this to end the way it usually does for you,” Hannibal reminded him.

Will’s fingers twitched on the armrests. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”

Hannibal shook his head once. “You had a problem, we found a solution.”

“An unorthodox solution.”

“A satisfying one,” Hannibal said. He had that focused curiosity about him that sometimes shone through his mask of professional indifference.

Will wondered if this thing between them had anything to do with his way of thinking and Hannibal’s obligation to his profession, but dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered his head. Will had seen enough of Hannibal to know that something else motivated him. Something Will couldn’t quite put a finger on yet.

“Seeing as your problem still remains,” Hannibal continued, “I would suggest another unorthodox solution.”

Will felt himself tense up. His fingers tightened around the armrests, his heart beat a little faster. “What do you suggest?”

“Show me how you usually pleasure yourself.”

Will licked his lips, his hand dropping to his thigh.

“Not here,” Hannibal said. “In your own bed.” He watched Will for a reaction. “Leave your door unlocked for me.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat. He imagined his little house at night, dark and silent, Hannibal in his bed, his hands steady on Will, his voice gentle.  

“Tonight?”

“Tonight and tomorrow and the night after that,” Hannibal said. “An unexpected visit might be more exciting than a scheduled one.”

A shiver ran down Will’s spine. He felt very much like he had as a teenager when he’d taken one of his dad's half-empty cans to his room and tasted beer for first time. “Okay,” he said.

-

Hannibal didn’t come that night, or the night after that, and Will found himself helplessly thinking about what would happen if he did, his body humming with energy. On the third night, he had to talk himself out of calling Hannibal. It was late. He was in bed already, the dogs asleep, the house quiet. But his thoughts kept going back to their session last week, the ache in his knees and his bruised mouth, Hannibal’s offer to call him when he needed him.

Will would wake him if he called now, and Hannibal’s voice would be as sleepy and gentle as it had been the last time.

 _Breathe_ , he had said. _Take a deep breath, Will. Good. Very good_.

Will sighed and turned over, pressed his hardening cock against the mattress. His hips pulled back and shivered forward again, his mouth dropping open with how good it felt. But just as he was getting into it and his eyes were about to flutter closed, something outside the window moved and made him stop all at once.

He sat up and waited, eyes glued to the shadows of swaying trees. Nothing happened. The dogs didn’t stir. There was no sound other than that of the wind.

Just a trick of his tired eyes then.

He should try to sleep. It was late. He could call Hannibal tomorrow and take care of himself then.

He was about to lie down when one of the shadows moved again. This time it only stopped after it reached the front door and stepped inside. It was entirely made of darkness, and so silent that Will was certain he was making it up. His heart thudded in his chest, his hands tightened in the sheets. He wanted to get up and wake the dogs, or at least turn the lights on, but he couldn't move.

“Hello, Will,” the shadow said and became a man.

Will let out a silent breath and slumped back against his pillow. The dogs stirred lazily and snuggled closer together.

“Didn’t hear your car,” Will said.

Hannibal smiled where he stood at the foot of Will’s bed, his skin pale in the faint light of the night. “As per our agreement,” he said, “a surprise visit.” He took the closest chair he could find, brought it to Will’s bed and sat down in it.

Will noticed he wasn’t wearing any shoes, just dark sock that made his ankles look delicate. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but kept his hands to himself. He knew what Hannibal was here for. He cleared his throat, his heart still pounding. “What do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you usually do to pleasure yourself.”

This had very little to do with pleasure these days – except with Hannibal it started to feel good again. With Hannibal, Will could let go again.

“I waited for you last night,” Will said. The heat of arousal came back to him all at once, his cock hardening again. It made him bold. “I thought about you just now.”

“Did you touch yourself?” 

Will opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Show me,” Hannibal said, and Will took a deep breath and lay down on his stomach. He didn’t hide his face in the pillow even though it was tempting to do so. Instead, he let Hannibal see him; one hand twisted in the sheets, the other pressed to his mouth, his hips slowly starting to move. Behind closed eyes, he was on his knees, Hannibal’s cock stretching his mouth, the taste and smell coming back to him all at once.

For a while, there was only the sound of his stuttering breath and the squeak of the mattress, as if he was alone in his house after all. Hannibal’s gaze on him felt like a physical touch, though, and when Will closed his mouth around two of his fingers and sucked, he heard Hannibal inhale deeply.

“What do you see?” Hannibal said. There was no trace of teasing in his voice. He sounded genuinely curious.

“You,” Will gasped against his fingers, his face burning. He could reach down and finish quicker, or stop any time he wanted to, but one part of him enjoyed Hannibal’s attention more than he’d thought he would.  

“Good,” Hannibal said, much closer now, his voice deep and rough. His hand came up to stroke Will’s hair and cheek, then moved down to his mouth. “That’s good,” he said again, taking Will’s fingers out and replacing them with his own.

Will groaned and started to suck.

“Harder.” Hannibal pushed his fingers a little deeper into his mouth. “Make it feel good, Will,” he said, and Will soaked his boxers with pre-come. The movement of his hips stuttered, became erratic. His hands tightened in the sheets as he obeyed, and when he heard Hannibal’s sharp intake of breath, he came with a muffled groan.

The tension in his muscles melted away instantly. A warm calmness engulfed him instead. He wished he wouldn't have to move and could go to sleep like this. His wet boxers became quickly uncomfortable, though. Slowly, so as not to chase away the doziness that had come over him, he pulled the sheets back and turned over.

Hannibal helped him strip, his hands quick but gentle. He used Will’s boxers to rub at the mattress where come had seeped through and left a stain.

Will’s entire body flushed. “Thank you,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re welcome.” Hannibal put his dirty clothes aside and went to the dresser for clean ones. He handed Will a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Lie down. I’ll be back in a moment,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen.

Will was too tired to think about the fact that Hannibal moved through his house like he knew every corner of it, like he belong here. He dressed and lay down, his legs still shaky. The squeak of a cabinet opening and closing came from the kitchen, then the sound of running water. Outside, the wind howled. Will focused on the melody it created, the rise and fall of it, and his eyes slipped shut.

When he opened them again it was bright outside.

He sat up in his bed and looked around. His clothes were clean, the chair Hannibal had sat in back in its place.

His dreamless sleep was the only evidence that Hannibal had been there at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal’s office hadn’t changed at all while Will had been in prison. Will had expected it to be engulfed by the darkness he now saw in Hannibal, but it was the same room that had once been a haven for him. All the ugliness of his mind was captured here. All his desperate hope for help. The walls around them held his secrets. Secrets Will had spilled without a second thought.

Those times were gone.

Now, Will needed longer to pick the right words and find a way to talk around the tightness in his chest. “How many have there been?” he said eventually. A quarter of their hour had passed in silence. “Randall Tier was a minor when he was in your psychiatric care.” The thought sat heavy and cold in Will’s stomach. It had come to him when he’d watched Tier talk to Jack, his practiced speech and accusatory tone, the way his eyes jumped over to look at Will. He must’ve been an easy target for Hannibal, young and confused.

Too easy maybe.

But Hannibal wasn’t the man Will had thought him to be. Maybe that was how he liked things. Predictable. Maybe Will had been as easy a target for him as Tier.

Hannibal pressed his lips together. “I didn’t touch Randall Tier.”

“You don’t have to touch,” Will said. “You can be persuasive in other ways.” Hannibal’s voice inside Will’s head agreed. It was easier to distinguish from his own thoughts now, but sometimes Will found himself still listening to it.

Hannibal sighed. He looked around the room, then at his hands in his lap, before finally turning his attention to Will again. They’d been here before; Will searching for answers, Hannibal refusing to admit any of what Will saw was true. He was polite about it, but impatience was starting to show on his features. 

What had he expected? That Will would forget everything just because he was free now? That everything would be forgive just because he hadn’t wanted Will in a prison cell, which — Will sighed and steered his thoughts in a different direction before he could fool himself into believing Hannibal’s selfishness had anything to do with kindness; Will was a plaything, and a plaything wasn’t entertaining behind bars. Not for long anyway.

Will took a deep breath. “I’m curious what Alana would have to say if she knew.”

“You told her I am dangerous.”

“I did.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one holding me at gunpoint, Will,” Hannibal said. “Repeatedly.”

“And if I remember correctly, Dr. Lecter, you said you wouldn’t lie to me.” Will held his gaze. “No more lies.”

“I’m not lying,” Hannibal said. “Randall Tier was unique in his own way, but I’ve never met anyone like you before.” 

Will clenched his teeth. “Lucky me,” he said. He _had_ been lucky that his brain had set itself on fire before he’d given Hannibal more of himself. He dreamed about it every night all the same — Hannibal sitting in a chair next to his bed and whispering about his potential. Watching him. Listening. He never touched him, but it felt like he did. 

Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning when Will was half-asleep and aroused, he wanted to give into it just one more time, listen to Hannibal saying his name over and over again, and take what he wanted. Just one more time.

“Nothing that happened between us was a lie,” Hannibal said as if he could hear his thoughts.

Anger and betrayal surged in Will. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the beat of his heart, a restless angry rhythm that made his fingers shake. The acidic taste of rage at the back of his throat grew stronger. Behind closed eyes, he saw Hannibal’s bloodied face, his own bloody hands.

The image made him euphoric. He shook as the smell of blood filled his nose. The hair on his arms stood on end— but he knew that he couldn’t allow himself the pleasure of it. The Chesapeake Ripper sat before him.

Abigail' and Beverly's killer sat before him. 

The anger in Will’s chest mingled with pain; pain for Abigail and Beverly, pain for himself; a storm of emotions that made it difficult for him to think clearly. He only knew one thing: Hannibal deserved more cruelty than a quick bullet would bring, more cruelty than Will satisfying his own impulsive desires would bring.

When Will opened his eyes, Hannibal was looking at him curiously, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as if he’d seen the image of his own bloodied face as clearly as Will had.

Will smiled back, his vague plan starting to take shape.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-explicit Molly Graham/Will Graham.

“My feet are killing me,” Molly said with a groan. She shifted from one foot to the other as if she couldn’t wait to take her high heels off, but when Will unlocked the door and they stepped inside, she seemed to forget all about her sore feet, and instead bent down to greet the dogs.

“Hi,” she said, holding still for wet kisses and excited woofs. She ruffled everyone’s fur and asked if their evening had been as good as hers.

Will closed the door behind him and joined them. He held still to be sniffed, patted anyone who demanded it, told Molly their names one more time.

After a while, the dogs lost interest and went back to lazing around on the floor. Will helped Molly up. “I’m going to have to take them for a walk later.”

“Yes, later,” Molly said with a grin.

The drive out here was too long to pretend they weren’t on the same page about how the evening would proceed. They both had the next day off, and Walter was with his grandparents for the weekend. There was nothing to stop them from taking it further than a kiss this time.

Will nodded. “Later.” He unbuttoned the top of his shirt as Molly let her hair down and took her shoes off. The lipstick she’d worn was all gone now, and Will was glad for it when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

“Sweet man,” Molly whispered against his lips, stroking his jaw. When they parted, she had a wistful look on her face, caught somewhere in the past, no doubt.

Will’s own thoughts wandered back to the last person he’d shared this with — a connection, a tender understanding, deeper than words could convey. He saw himself eating the flesh of a man he had killed with his own hands, remembered the warm darkness of Hannibal’s house, the soft kiss at the end of the evening, as if they could allow themselves a new beginning.

He pushed the thoughts from that evening away and found Molly smiling up at him in apology. He pulled her into his arms, once again reminded of their broken places and how perfectly they seemed to align.

Then, just as quickly as the pain for past events had come over them, it was gone. When they kissed this time, it was hard and fast, their hands sliding down to hips, pulling on clothes and holding on. Their breath came quicker.

“The bed,” Will said, walking backwards.

Molly stopped him and pushed him down to his knees instead. She raised one eyebrow, grinning, and when Will nodded, she lifted her skirt and took her panties off.

Will had thought about doing this to her, more than once. Maybe he’d been obvious about it tonight. Maybe he’d stared too much.

It didn’t matter now.

He pressed closer and the prickle of trimmed hair against his lips made his body buzz with excitement. He opened his mouth against her and breathed in. His tongue moved by instinct, but he forced himself to wait and prolong the moment as long as he could until finally, the tip of his tongue nudged against her.

Above him, Molly gasped, her fingers tightening in Will’s hair.

“Harder, Will, make it feel good,” Hannibal said, and Will pulled away, startled.

Molly mistook his pause for discomfort and helped him up, pulled him to the bed. They fell onto it gracelessly, undressing as they kissed. Will was quick to slide down the bed and put his mouth on her again, his own hips grinding into the mattress.

It was better like this.

The pressure on his cock stopped him from overthinking, as did his busy mouth. He focused on the broad strokes of his tongue and kept going until he felt Molly tense up. Then he pointed his tongue and flicked it across her, barely making contact.

“Will,” Molly gasped, grabbing the hand he had splayed over her hip. She was close.

In the space beside Will’s bed, Hannibal appeared out of thin air. Will could feel his presence like a physical touch. His hips stuttered to a stop, his tongue became slow. He shuddered.

“Are you being good for her?” Hannibal asked.

Will put two fingers inside her. Moved faster. He didn’t want to prolong it anymore. He just wanted the rush of excitement from making her come that would drown out Hannibal.

When it happened, his thoughts belonged to Molly’s gasps and shivering thighs. Then she pulled him up and guided him into her, and Hannibal was watching again, legs crossed, hands in his lap.

Will closed his eyes, pressed his face into Molly’s neck and started to fuck. It took longer than he’d expected. His thoughts were a mess, jumping back and forth in time. He forced himself to open his eyes and look at Molly as he finished.

“Good, very good, Will,” Hannibal still said, making Will’s hips jerk one more time, his hands shake.

Afterwards, they lay together, snuggling, Molly’s fingers tracing invisible patterns on Will’s chest. She took a deep breath as if she wanted to speak, but didn’t say anything.  When it happened again, Will wrapped his arm tighter around her, pulled her closer against him. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you to meet Walter,” Molly said, all at once. She must’ve thought about it before. “Is that something you’d be okay with?”

“Yes,” Will said without hesitation and found that it was completely true. He wanted it, in fact. He opened his mouth to tell her, but Molly cut him off with a deep kiss. She pressed her naked body against his under the covers, and Will’s thoughts narrowed in on that contact, the hot line where their bodies met. He felt like he could go again, if they kissed a little longer. But Molly jerked in Will’s arms and started laughing against his mouth. “Your dogs want in on the action,” she said.

Winston and Max had wandered over and were sniffing at Molly’s foot. The others slowly trailed after them.

Will groaned and sat up. “They’ve been patient,” he said.

“Very,” Molly said with a smirk.

Will kissed her once more, then pulled on boxers and a clean t-shirt, sweatpants. “Stay where you are,” he said.

Molly winked at him.

Outside, the sky was finally darkening after a long day. A light breeze carried the scent of summer.

Will stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply. Behind him, he knew, his house looked like a boat.

He didn’t turn around to look at it.


	7. Chapter 7

Two months after Hannibal’s death, Will couldn’t ignore the fact that things between him and Molly were different. They talked about the dogs and the weather, how well Will’s wounds had healed and how Walter was doing in school. They talked a lot and didn’t say anything at all.

It felt like they were tiptoeing closer to the breaking point every day.

When it came, the breaking point was hushed voices and averted eyes, talks that lasted late into the night and got frustrated and angry with each passing hour.

Things were different and they wouldn’t go back to how they had been, not when Will saw bloody tears run down Molly’s cheeks whenever he closed his eyes, or had to spend the night on the couch, tossing and turning through nightmares. He had opened a door in his mind that he should’ve left closed. But now there was no one he could talk to about it. No one who understood.

“It’s for the best,” Will said when he took off his wedding ring. His voice was rough from another talk that had stretched into the night. “I’m not – safe.”

One part of Molly didn’t disagree. Will could tell by the way her eyes shifted sideways, and her lips became a thin line. He didn’t blame her. He wasn’t the man she had married. She wanted more. She deserved more and not a man who was hanging onto the past and spent more time than he’d like to admit trying to convince himself that the death of a serial killer was a good thing.

Will didn’t tell her that he needed convincing. He didn’t tell anyone, didn’t write it down on all the forms he had to fill out afterwards, didn’t say it during the examinations, didn’t mention it to Jack or Bedelia. He tried not to think about it. But he knew it like he knew how to breathe. This wasn’t a victory. Not for him. It was a sadness that grew stronger the longer he ignored it until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Do you miss him?” Molly asked. They were sitting on their still made bed, their backs to the headboard. The sun was rising and slowly filled the room with an orange glow. The snow had melted weeks ago. Spring was almost here. “He tried to —” Molly started to say, then stopped abruptly. There were no more words left, no more tears. There have been at the beginning of this but there weren’t now. For both of them.

“Yes,” Will said. “He tried to kill you and Walter. He tried to kill me. He killed Abigail and Beverly. He killed a lot of people.” And still, the world felt emptier since Will had woken up in a hospital bed and Hannibal hadn’t. “I – he was – he was my friend,” Will said. He opened his mouth a couple times to give Molly more than that but nothing that would make it better came to his mind.

Molly took pity on him and got up, started looking through the wardrobe for his clothes.

-

After everything was said and done between him and Molly, Will spent a week in a motel, looking up houses, searching for jobs. He couldn’t stay close to Molly and Walter, but he couldn’t go back to Wolf Trap either. He’d be looking for old friends and enemies there. So he chose a new place, stayed close to water, found a boat yard where he could work, a house that no one else seemed to want.

Even in the new surroundings, he couldn’t stop looking for ghosts: Beverly disapproved when he drank too much after dinner, Abigail watched him work, Hannibal hid in the shadows of his bedroom. At times their faces flickered and were almost transparent, leaving him alone for a while.

Will imagined it would’ve been more difficult to be alone in Wolf Trap.

The little house he moved in was isolated, standing alone at the end of a dirt road with a big fenced off yard for the dogs. It was old, the floors creaking and the windows leaky. Will would need months to fix everything.

He couldn’t wait to start.

The first day he spent there, he worked until two in the morning, going through all the rooms, adjusting loose cupboard doors, putting his clothes away. The muscles in his calves were twitching by the end of the day, and when he lay down, he was asleep within minutes.

It took less than two weeks to fall into a routine. In the mornings, Will drove one town over to work; in the evenings, he worked on the house. People mostly left him alone during the day, and Will was glad for it. He kept to himself, fixed motors that needed fixing, and spoke only when he was spoken to.

John was the only one who didn’t seem to find Will’s demeanor off-putting. He talked a lot. About his kids and wife, about the car he worked on when he had time. His hair was the same color as Hannibal’s, but it was never properly combed because of hasty mornings with children, always sticking out at weird angles before John hid it under a hat. He was broader than Hannibal, too, with a face that didn’t show his age.

Will thought about touching him and shuddered in disgust. He could see how it’d go. John was kind enough to let it slide. He would take a step back and explain that he wasn’t swinging that way. He would be nice about it, like he was nice about everything else.

Will wondered what it would take to make John less nice, and quenched the thought as soon as it entered his head.

On the weekends, Will made the most progress on the house. He started early and worked through the midday heat. By the end of the day, his shirt was sticking to his back and his hands were sore, but his mind was quiet.

The skin on his forearms soaked up the sun, got reddish first, then a soft brown. His body changed. Slow and unwilling, but it changed. Maybe soon it would be entirely different and not something Hannibal had touched and known. Maybe he could forget what Hannibal’s hands had felt like.

Late one evening, Will stood naked in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, still wet from the shower, and stared at the marks on his body left from the sun, from knives and bullets. The ones on his forehead and cheek stood out the most on his freshly tanned skin.

He touched the smile on his belly carefully and felt Hannibal’s eyes on him.

“Are you grieving, Will?” Hannibal said.

Will blinked at him in the mirror. He was in the soft sweater he had worn before, before —

“You work when you’re awake and when you sleep your dreams are all of one thing.”

Drowning.

Water filling up his lungs. Hannibal sinking to the bottom of the ocean and Will watching helplessly, over and over again. He’d gotten used to the burning sensation in his lungs after waking up, but the sadness that lingered in the morning hours always seemed impossible, too great for a single person.

“Reliving trauma doesn’t mean I’m missing it,” Will said, his voice rough from not being used much over the weekend.

Hannibal’s smile stretched wider.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Will said. “People miss things because they got used to them.”

“When I was imprisoned, did you think of me as often as you do now?”

Will took a deep breath. “Always.” And then one day he’d only thought about Hannibal when he’d went to bed and closed his eyes, and he’d had to spend the night on the couch, reassuring himself that it was good to forget, that that was what he should strive for.

“Do you miss your wife?”

Will stepped away from the mirror and pulled fresh boxer shorts on. He went to check on the dogs, made sure they were comfortable for the night.

When he came back, Hannibal was gone.

-

On a Thursday after work, Will found Freddie Lounds waiting for him in the driveway. She wore big enough sunglasses that Will almost didn’t recognize her at first, and when he did, it was too late to turn the car around and leave.

She had been encouraged by the events in the Dolarhyde case, seeing the staged escape as a beforehand agreed upon plan between two allies. It fit her narrative of two lovers and one killer perfectly. Will wasn’t sure if her brashness about it upset him more, or the fact that she was the only one who saw what others didn’t. Either way, he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of running from her.

“Mr. Graham,” she said, smiling. “You are hard to find.” Her eyes wandered over him and the car, the shopping bags in the passenger seat, then her gaze fastened on the scar across Will’s cheek. It hadn’t healed quiet right and people didn’t look too closely at Will these days because of it, quickly averting their eyes instead so as not to stare.

Freddie was not one of those people. She looked her fill, as if she hadn’t taken dozens of pictures of him already and shared them with her readers. “How have you been?” she said and had the nerve to extend her hand for a handshake.

Will ignored it. “Hard to find for a reason,” he said.

“I was promised interviews.”

“You had your interview.”

“Things have changed.”

Will unloaded the car, only then remembering that most of his purchases were bottles of whiskey.

The look on Freddie’s face suggested that she took notice of it. She stepped closer. “I’ve come a long way,” she said.

“You could’ve called.”

“Funny you should say that.” Freddie looked around, down the road and at the fields around the house. “No one knows you are here. Not even your ex-wife.” The corners of her mouth lifted softly. “You know I can change that.”

Irritation bloomed in Will's chest. It added a rough quality to his voice. “What do you want?”

“What kind of deal do you and Hannibal Lecter have? You help him escape for – what? Cooking lessons?” Her eyes narrowed. “How long until he comes back again? Or does he stay away for good this time?” She took a small notebook and a pen from her purse. “And how exactly did you convince everyone that you were acting in self-defense? Before you insist on it, you should know I’ve seen the body.”

Will shook his head. “He isn’t coming back,” he said and stepped away from her. “He is dead.”

“The FBI searched and searched again,” Freddie called after him. “There was no body.” She followed him up on the porch. “Presumed dead in some cases isn’t good enough, Mr. Graham, and you know that.”

“Goodbye, Freddie.” Will fumbled with the shopping bags and keys. Inside, he heard the dogs gather around the door.

Freddie didn’t move. “Pretty lonely out here,” she said, her eyes scanning the surroundings once again. “Good hiding place.”

Will sighed, his hand on the doorknob, the bags heavy in his arms. He thought of the killers he had shared his mind with as he smiled at her, and naturally landed on the Ripper, cold and detached. His lips stretched the way Hannibal’s had at imminent danger. “Miss Lounds,” he said. “Why are you here if you truly believe that Hannibal Lecter is hiding in my basement?” On the other side of the door, the dogs started barking curiously. “Or do you have a plan on how to get away from a crazy person and a cannibalistic serial killer? Out here where no one is looking.”

The smug look finally slipped from Freddie’s face. She took a step back, but then seemed to realize what she was doing and stopped abruptly. “I’m counting on my luck.”

“You’ll run out of that eventually,” Will said. “Weird that you’re still around given what you’re doing.” The moment the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. They were practically a gift to someone like Freddie Lounds. He clenched his teeth. “Don’t come here again,” he said and left her standing on the porch.

Inside, he put the groceries away and tried to quash the feeling that she was still watching him. He’d heard her get in the car and drive off, but still, the feeling remained.

The house was as he had left it even though Will was sure Freddie hadn’t waited in the drive way the entire time. The back door usually stood open for the dogs so they could get out in the backyard whenever they wanted to. It was easy to get inside, and Freddie had no doubt done just that. But it didn’t matter anyway. She hadn’t found anything. There was nothing to be found here.

“You scared her,” Abigail said, watching out of the window at the departing car. “Why did you do that?”

Will ignored her for so long that the next time he checked, she was gone.

She stayed away for the rest of the day, as did Beverly and Hannibal, and Will only started drinking after dinner. Two fingers of whiskey between doing the dishes and letting the dogs out. Then two more after his shower.

By the time it got dark, he lost count of how often he had refilled his glass. The good thing about that was was that sleep came easy to him, and in the morning, he woke from a full bladder instead of a nightmare.

-

Will had restored the fence around the property first thing after moving here, made sure the dogs didn’t hurt themselves when they were out and he was at work. There were no splinters or nails sticking out from the wood anymore, no gaps.

The shed in the backyard he had left bolted until now. It was crammed full of stuff from the previous owner; jars filled with screws and buttons, old magazines and tools, book and clothes. But in between the clutter were photograph and postcards and letters, personal belongings that no one had come to collect.

Will threw all of it out, except for the books that weren’t too damaged, and the logs he found under boxes of old clothes and newspapers.

An ax hung on the wall next to the small window. Will tested its sharpness, then carried the logs out.

When he looked over to check what the dogs were doing, he found Hannibal sitting on the porch steps, watching him. He hadn’t visited for a while, which wasn’t a surprise — Will had worked hard to make him disappear, either drinking enough to slip into sleep without realizing it, or working enough to barely make it to bed awake.

It was distracting to have him here now.

Will tried to focus on the task at hand nonetheless. He used the sturdiest log as a chopping block, set up another one on top of it and swung the ax. On the third stroke, the wood split with a satisfying sound, right down the middle. The halves were easier to chop still. Then came the next piece.

When Will looked up again, Abigail was sitting next to Hannibal. Will didn’t mind when she came. Sometimes between her visits he imagined she was off to college, growing and learning. Happy. He often wondered if this was what Hannibal had pictured when he’d asked him to leave everything behind. Falling off the face of earth, alone and together, hidden where only Abigail could find them. Would Hannibal have taught her everything he knew himself, or would he have let her go out into the world on her own?

It didn’t matter. It was too late now anyway.

Will chopped wood until his hands hurt. By then he was almost done. He pushed through the last pieces with gritted teeth, then piled everything in the shed along one wall.

Hannibal and Abigail were still there when he made his way inside. Hannibal was looking at him with shining eyes.

Will’s gaze fell to his lips, and Hannibal licked them. Will could recall in minute detail what Hannibal’s mouth felt like against his own, or pressed to his skin. He remembered the heat of it. The ache it evoked. He gaped at Hannibal.

“Are we no longer on speaking terms?” Hannibal said and Will swayed a little, his mouth going dry. He ignored the question and walked up the two steps and away from them.

“Will,” Abigail said.

Inside, Will filled up the bowls for the dogs, gulped down some water and went straight to the bathroom for a shower.

Hannibal lingered, knowing he wasn’t supposed to leave yet, knowing what Will had seen and what he had thought of. Knowing what he wanted.

Of course, he knew. He was part of Will.

With his skin prickling with arousal, Will didn’t mind how fucked up that sounded and what it really meant. He just wanted one thing right now.

The bedroom was cool and dark. Will kept the blinds down during the day to shield it from the sun. It was a blessing now. He dried off hastily and lay down on the cold sheets. He hadn’t — he couldn’t remember when he’d last touched himself, when he’d climaxed apart from waking up with sticky boxers occasionally. And now the rush of memories filled his cock out so fast, he put a hand on himself protectively, gripped hard to ground himself.

The last time he’d felt Hannibal was after the Freddie Lounds dinner. All throughout the evening, Will had tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t give in knowing what he knew about Hannibal. And all throughout the evening, Hannibal had made it impossible to forget and impossible to resist.

Will hadn’t known then and didn’t know now when the anger and betrayal inside him had become something else. There was no clear distinction between rage and forgiveness. It had come over him like nightfall, his senses had adjusted long before he’d realized it.

And then it had been too late to stop.

Hannibal had kissed him in the hallway, after helping him put his coat on, after handing him his scarf. It had seemed impossible until it had happened. Then it had seemed inevitable. Hannibal had been gentle, the kiss soft until a shiver ran through him and his arms came up around Will’s torso, strong and unyielding. His voice had been rough in Will’s ear, his teeth sharp on Will’s neck, and then he sank to his knees.

He’d been so greedy and eager, trembling with it, gagging on it.

Will could see all of it behind closed eyes, sharp and vibrant — their half-hidden bodies in the semi-darkness of Hannibal’s house. He could feel the heat of Hannibal’s mouth on him now, rubbed at the wet head of his cock and shivered with how good it felt. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Hannibal was watching him.

“You don’t take care of yourself, Will, do you?”

Will looked over at him, and his fingers tightened, moved faster, until the room was filled with the slick sound his hand made and his own gasps. He realized that Hannibal was talking him through it, and slowed down so he could focus, his eyes tracking the movement of Hannibal’s lips.

“How long has it been?” Hannibal said. “You sound as if you’re hurting.”

Will shook his head. He looked down his heaving chest and belly at his wet cock. It pulsed in his hand. He was so close.

“You sounded like this when I first touched you.” Hannibal leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his thighs. He closed his eyes just for a second. When he opened them again, they jumped from one spot on Will’s body to the next, as if to make up for what they’d missed. “I remember the melody of it.”

Will put his head back and let out the noises that sat in his throat, that he had wanted to keep to himself.

“Yes, like that.” Hannibal sounded winded. “You wanted something so simple and I gave it to you.”

Will remembered the tender feeling of newness after that first night with Hannibal and how ugly it had become only weeks later. How the anger had eaten at him day and night. “You didn’t really mean it,” he said. His quickly approaching orgasm was just as quickly fading now. Pain and want twisted in his stomach. One made his hips jerk up, the other his eyes burn.

Will groaned.

He lingered on the edge of something big for a moment. Pleasure and pain. It felt like the split-second of realization before falling, like pulling the trigger and waiting for the bang. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, suppressed the chaos of feelings inside him as best he could, until it finally settled.

When he opened his eyes, Hannibal was gone and with him Will’s desire to continue, his erection flagging.

It was better like this. Better to stop thinking about him than to deal with the emptiness in the house afterwards.

-

There was loud banging on the door. Judging by the impatient pause between one onslaught and the next, it must have been going on for a while. The dogs were agitated by it. Their paws clicked excitedly on the floor. 

Will squinted at the clock on his night table. 10 AM. It was bright and sunny outside. He waited, hoping whoever had woken him would leave. When the banging continued and Winston came to nose at his hand, Will admitted defeat and stood on wobbly legs. The rush of blood to his head made him pause twice on his way to the door.

“It’s okay,” he told the dogs when he got there. He opened the door just enough to see. The urge to bolt it rose in him when he recognized his visitor.

Jack was standing on his porch, hands on his hips. “Will,” he said.

Will opened the door a little wider. Wide enough for Jack to step in.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since Will had last seen him, even though it had only been a few months. Jack looked tired – his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened like he’d had a long day of work behind him already and a long car drive on top of that.

The dogs milled around their feet, sniffing, then ran out into the yard.

Will let the door open for them and stepped away from it. “How did you find me?”

“Were you hiding?” Jack said. He looked around, a quick glance at the empty bottles of whiskey, the boat motor Will had worked on until the morning hours, the bare walls and old furniture.

Will let him look, too tired to demand an explanation for his visit or defend himself. Jack would ask and say whatever he had come for, and Will wasn’t in any hurry to hear it this soon after waking up. He slumped into the closest armchair and wondered what kind of bait Jack had this time.

It didn’t matter.

He wouldn’t bite.

“How are you, Will?” Jack said. The floorboards creaked under his weight. Will could tell where he stood by the sound they made – Jack took three steps toward the bookshelf before he turned around and walked towards the kitchen. Eventually, he came back and sat down opposite Will with a heavy sigh.

A breeze came through the open door, filling the house with summer air. Will breathed it in. “Are house visits of former special agents a new policy at the FBI?”

“They are when I feel they are necessary.”

“Do you visit Miriam Lass?”

Jack remained silent. Over his shoulder, Will watched the dogs play outside and roll in the grass. Winston was hiding in the shadow of the big tree. It was hot already this early in the day. Will had planned on working in the upstairs rooms, remove all the old wallpaper, see how much repair the drywall needed. But it looked like he had to find something else to work on today. It was too hot upstairs on a day like this. 

Will looked at Jack. “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” Jack said. His tone suggested that he was wondering whether Will had done something in the meantime that would warrant an arrest. One part of him will forever doubt Will, unsure what he was capable of and how honest he was.

“We were – everything was done,” Will said. “What are you doing here?”

“Freddie Lounds published an article. I’m making sure she was exaggerating.”

Will resisted rolling his eyes. “And?” he said, spreading his arms.

“She was right about the whiskey.”

“Freddie Lounds says a lot of things when she doesn’t get what she wants,” Will said. “You know better than to listen to her, Jack.” He was momentarily distracted by the jolt of anger Freddie brought out in him. Then he took a closer look at Jack. Even in the state he was in, Will found it hard to believe that Jack was here just to check on him. Jack cared about people in a practical way. He didn’t drive out for hours to check on them. “You could’ve called.”

“You were fine before, Will,” Jack said.

Jack’s stoic face in the hospital room came to Will’s mind. _There is a high possibility that Hannibal is dead_. His voice had sounded slurred in Will’s ears, too far away and too close at the same time. He had shown Will the photographs. _Perhaps someone who recognized Hannibal_. _An ally_. Or someone who had wanted his strength, wanted to absorb all of it.

“Good,” Will had said, cold and detached.

Will licked his dry lips, tried to find the words that would make Jack leave. The combination of alcohol and lack of sleep made it difficult to think about this, let alone talk. “I am fine,” he said. Even to his own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

Jack let it slide, though. “How did it happen exactly?” he said instead. “Do you remember now?”

Will didn’t. All he remembered was the crash of waves, loud like a roar, taking what they had once created. It was what he heard now when he closed his eyes at night. A call from something that wasn’t there anymore. Haunting him. He remembered how gentle he had been while taking a life. Hannibal must’ve been ecstatic in the moments before they’d hit the water, knowing he had convinced Will to kill, not only in defense, but because he had wanted to. ~~~~

“Will?”

“I don’t remember,” Will said. “Everything I remember I told you already.” There was the warmth of Hannibal’s embrace, his strong arms around Will’s torso. Pain, distant and vague. A distinct sense of victory and inevitability. Then darkness.

Jack nodded slowly. “Dr. Du Maurier suggested a funeral,” he said. “An unmarked grave so it doesn’t turn into some kind of cult site for all the – freaks.” The last word was spoken gently as if Jack had forgotten who he was talking to. He cleared his throat. “Something only you know about maybe.”

“She would like that,” Will said, then quickly added, “I don’t need a grave.” He stood, ignored the way Jack looked around the room at evidence that belied his words. “You won’t find him, Jack. You won’t find anything.”

“There’s still no body,” Jack said. “Why are you so sure?”

“He wouldn’t have left.” Will shuffled to the door and out, so he could breathe again. In the quiet hours of the evenings, he sometimes wondered if he had managed to kill him himself, or if whoever had found him had finished the job. The anger that came with the latter option always took him by surprise.

Jack stood in the shadows behind him and said nothing.

Will wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. But the silence was good. He liked the silence.

They stood watching the dogs for a while, listening to the chirping of birds. Then Will went inside to make coffee. He added milk to Jack’s and a dash of whiskey to his own.

“Thank you,” Jack said.

After a while, he cleared his throat and started speaking tentatively, as if he already knew the answer. “There have been two murders.”

Will shook his head. He could feel Beverly’s presence all of a sudden and turned around to see her standing in the doorway.

“Tell him to go eff himself,” she said, grinning.

Will smiled at her. “I can’t look,” he told Jack.

“I understand.”  

-

The last days of summer were long and broiling, and seemed impossible to fill. Will’s palms got rougher, the list of repairs shorter. Which was good. The routine and simplicity of the tasks steadied Will’s fragile grip on sanity; the conversations with Abigail and Beverly got less frequent. Hannibal visited only once in a while.

Will didn’t hear from Jack or Freddie Lounds again, which he was grateful for. He hadn’t looked up the article Jack had told him about. Whatever Freddie had done with the pictures and the harsh words exchanged between them, Will didn’t want to know. He had the house to fix and the dogs to look for, and that was all he wanted right now.

The bulk of the work usually happened on the weekends, except when it was too hot to do anything but little tasks. Like today. The sun had already been unbearably hot in the morning. Then in the afternoon, the sky clouded over and the air got thick.

A storm was coming.

The dogs whined in anticipation of it.

Will sat down next to them on the floor, a dismantled boat motor between his legs, and waited for the rain, hoping it would bring some relief from the heat.

It took a while. The thunder sounded tormented and far away. It needed time to form its roar. The closer it got, the more restless the dogs grew. Until they leaped up from the floor and ran toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” Will said. He hissed at them and when that didn’t help, he dropped the screw driver to the floor and got up, then stopped dead in his tracks. “Hannibal,” he said, startled, the word leaving his mouth by accident.

Hannibal stood at the kitchen door, looking at him with a soft smile on his face. “Hello, Will,” he said before bending down to greet the dogs. He didn’t take his eyes off Will for a second.

Will watched back in disbelief.

For the second time in his life, he felt like the world was imploding, like something impossible had happened. The same hope and fear and anger overcame him that had when he’d found Abigail alive. Logically, he knew that somewhere along the way he had made a mistake. He hadn’t known every fact. He had assumed—

But that didn’t help now. He wanted to run. He wanted to reach for the screwdriver. Which of the two would be the better choice, he didn’t know.

Hannibal — not the version of him that Will held in his mind, in that sweater and with soft hands; no, Hannibal with short hair, Hannibal with a wrinkled linen shirt, Hannibal with tired eyes — stepped closer.

Winston whined at Will’s side, licked his hand.

“Will,” Hannibal said carefully, “you are panicking.”

“I,” Will gasped, only then becoming aware of his labored breathing. “I’m not panicking,” he said, although his heart was beating so fast, he was sure Hannibal could hear it over the thunder and the confused whines of the dogs. He took a step back, then another, almost tripping over the parts of the boat motor.

The car keys were still on the hook by the door where he’d left them Friday after work. He grabbed them with shaking fingers and was out of the door and in his car in seconds.

After barely one mile, he had to admit that it hadn’t been his brightest idea.

He had to pull over at the only gas station in town, the rain too heavy to drive in. It got dark, too, like it was the middle of the night. Every now and again, there was a split second of brightness.

Will sat in his car until the rain stopped. And then some more.

When he drove back, it was dark because of the late hour. The storm had long moved on. Will was hungry and hot from sitting in the car for hours, his legs stiff. He expected Hannibal to be gone when he opened the door, but he was still there, sitting on the couch, waiting.

The dogs were asleep in their usual spots. The house quiet.

Will walked to the bathroom without a word. He showered long and cold. And when he got out and lingered too long in the shadows of the hallway, Hannibal stood up and followed him.

“Will,” he said. The bedroom seemed to shrink with him inside it; he filled out every corner like he belonged there. “Are we no longer on speaking terms?” he said when Will simply dressed in silence.

Years ago, Will had thought he would manage not to speak to him, once he had rejected him, once he had said the words out loud. He had hoped to learn to hate him. But he hadn’t. And he didn’t. Hannibal had found his way inside him like a sharp knife. Will carried him around everywhere he went, secure between his ribs. It’d be so much easier to remove the knife if it was hate that made his fingers shake and his heart throb.

They sat on the bed in silence.

“I told Jack you were dead,” Will said, voice rough. “But you just wanted to punish me.”

Hannibal watched him. “Did it feel like punishment?” he said eventually. “Was it not what you had wished for?”

A bitter laugh left Will’s mouth. “I don’t know what I wished for, but it wasn’t this.” This house that he couldn’t be in if he wasn’t working. This life. Punishment of a different kind. “Are you telling me you tried to stay away for my sake?”

“Should I have taken you with me? My impression was that you didn’t want that," Hannibal said. "Or did you pray you would see me again?” he added, and Will wrapped his hands around his throat to shut him up. He pushed until Hannibal lay flat on his back. If he killed him now, he would be sure of it. He would be able to see.

Hannibal stared up at him, unblinking, his face turning slowly red. “Do it,” he said. His voice was strained, barely audible. “No noose around my neck. No wounds from others. Just your hands.”

Will growled at him and squeezed harder, but Hannibal didn’t stop talking.

“Watch this time, Will. Don’t let God decide. Watch.”

Will could strangle him and bury his body in the backyard, mark it so he could always know where to find him. He could cut a piece off of him and carry it around to be sure he hadn’t imagined it. Tell Jack not to look anymore when he came asking again, tell him again that Hannibal was dead. Will wouldn’t have to wait for something impossible to happen anymore.

Hannibal would be gone. No one would miss him. No one but Will would know.

All at once, Will felt his strength vanish. He let go of Hannibal and slumped onto the bed next to him. A single sob spilled from his mouth before he pressed his lips together. When he felt Hannibal’s arms around his torso, he didn’t push him away. It felt good; solid weight pressed to his back, anchoring him. The places where they touched were searing hot.

“What happened?” Will said after a while.

Neither of them slept, both too cautious of the other to relax fully. Will tried to remember when they’d last shared a bed like this, and couldn’t. Theirs wasn’t a usual relationship by any standards, it seemed. It was easier to count the years and months since they had been in a room together without any onlookers. Will turned around to face Hannibal, to look at his soft tired eyes, and assure himself that he wasn’t making him up.

The moment before their lips met, felt like an eternity, and then like no time at all had passed between their last kiss and this one. Their lips moved in practiced motions, plumped, opened. Their tongues touched.  

Will broke the kiss reluctantly, but he needed to know. “What happened?” he asked against Hannibal’s mouth. It was the only thing he got out before Hannibal kissed him again, harder and deeper than before, and all thoughts left Will’s head. His body, untouched for months, awakened in seconds.

Excitement surged through him, surprising when it came without the usual sadness. But Hannibal was here now, even if Will couldn’t believe it yet. He wasn’t just a figment of his imagination but solid and real.

Will pulled him on top, spread his legs and rolled his hips up slowly.

The heat between them grew thick and heavy. They undressed quickly, eager to explore skin they’d never had a chance to explore before, the marks they had left on each other’s bodies and those from others.

Above Hannibal’s hip, the skin was pink with scar tissue.

Will’s hands started shaking. The taste and smell of blood flooded his senses. He was back on the cliff, the life he had known behind him and one he couldn’t predict before him. Water rose around him, its roar filled his ears, loud and cold—

“Will,” Hannibal said. “Look at me.”

Will blinked up at him. They were back in the bedroom, the dimmed light from the lamp coloring the walls amber.

“Good,” Hannibal said. His warm hands slid over Will’s chest down to his cock, slow and deliberate. The wet heat of his mouth followed.

Will put a fist in his hair to stop him. “No,” he said. “Fuck –” his voice hitched, “fuck me.” He reached for the night table. He’d bought the bottle of lube months ago, planning to get off more often so he wouldn’t dream of Hannibal’s hands on him all the time. It still sat in the drawer where he’d first left it, unopened.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Hannibal.

Hannibal opened him up with his tongue and fingers, his spit easing the way first, then lube.

Will sighed, pushed down against his hand and got lost in the sensation of it. He stopped when Hannibal started rubbing at his prostate, jerked away from it. “I’m going to come,” he whispered.

“You can.”

“No.” Will reached down for Hannibal’s cock to guide him in, and got distracted by how wet he was, by the look on Hannibal’s face when he touched himself. Their fingers brushed, pushed in at the same time, stretching him open.

That seemed to break Hannibal’s control.

He pulled Will’s hands away and pressed in. Stopped. Started again. Any time Will’s breath shuddered, he slowed down. Will had to pull him in, tighten his legs around his hips until Hannibal was completely inside him and they were a tangle of sweaty limbs, clutching at each other.

Will nodded. “Yes,” he said, his body ready, hot from prolonged arousal.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered. He was trembling on top of him, gasping for breath. “Will.” His mouth found a tender spot on Will’s neck. “Will.”

“It’s okay,” Will whispered. “You’re – you’re just going to fuck me.”

Hannibal’s hips jerked forward, impulsive and greedy, and Will held him tighter. It must’ve been as long for him as it had been for Will, and Will wanted all his impatience and ugly desire. He wanted it quick and rough, wanted to feel it tomorrow.

“I didn’t think — I didn’t.” Hannibal seemed intoxicated. His eyes were wet when he leaned up. He gave up on finishing whatever he’d wanted to say and set a quicker pace, one that pushed a gasp out of Will with every thrust.

“Tell me,” Will said. “I want to know everything.”

Hannibal gasped against Will’s lips. “You were running away,” he said. “Always.” His thrusts became rough, uncontrolled. “I never thought I’d have this.”

Will groaned, dragging his nails down Hannibal’s back. “Closer.” He needed him closer. He wanted all of him.

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal said. He repeated Will’s name over and over again, gentling his thrusts, and Will had a moment of pure clarity — they would never be separated again. Hannibal would kill them both before he’d let it happen again.

Will found that he didn’t mind as much as he probably should.

Then all coherent thoughts were driven from his mind by the sudden peak of his pleasure as it turned into orgasm. He shook from it, his mouth falling open when he felt Hannibal come inside him.

They rocked together gently, until the last traces of their pleasure were gone. Even as sweaty and winded as they were, they clutched at each other. Slowly, Hannibal leaned up and pulled out. He offered Will one of their shirts for a quick cleanup, then went for glasses of water for each of them.

“I want to know what happened,” Will said.

“Yes.”

“Not now.”

Hannibal nodded and opened the window. It had started raining again while they'd been too busy to notice. The air that came through the window was fresh and cool.

“Tell me tomorrow,” Will said.

“I will.”

Will turned the light off and made room for Hannibal as he lay down.

In the darkness, he reached for him and grabbed one of his hands. He held onto it until he fell asleep.

-

The next morning, the scent of coffee woke Will.

Hannibal stood at the stove. “Scrambled eggs,” he said. “There wasn’t much else, I’m afraid.”

“It’s good.”

Will sat down in one of the chairs and watched him for a while. His body was stiff in some places, tender in others. He felt good. “Where have you been?” he asked.

“Freddie Lounds had some interesting theories.”

“What happened really?”

“Cuba,” Hannibal said. “A modest house on the outskirts of Havana. During the day I visit the Cathedral Square and draw. In the evenings, I cook.”

Will nodded. It was easy to picture him there, relaxed, soaking up the sun. “They said I called Jack. I don’t remember.”

“Chiyoh called Jack for you.”

That made sense.

“I wasn’t conscious when she made that decision.” Hannibal took the pan off the stove and turned toward Will. “She wanted to let you deal with the situation on your own.” He knelt between Will’s legs, pulled at the waistband of his boxers. “I’m thankful she changed her mind. I'm thankful she saved me so I could see you again.”

“Oh,” Will said. His body tensed up when Hannibal took him in his mouth, shocked into stillness. The pleasure came later, hit him like a crushing wave. He felt himself harden and stretch Hannibal’s lips. “God.” He felt dizzy from the sudden hunger.

It didn’t take very long with how skilled Hannibal was at this. At one point, Will put his fingers in his hair and pulled, then held him still and snapped his hips up.

Hannibal took it all without protest. He looked up at Will, eyes soft, offering another chance.

“Ask me again,” Will panted.

Hannibal pulled away slowly, until only the head of Will’s cock was between his lips. He swirled his tongue around it, rubbed the tip of it against the slit, lapped up the pre-come that gathered there with slow licks that sent Will hurtling toward climax.

Just as Will was about to come, Hannibal let him slip from his mouth. “Come with me,” he said. “I made a place for you, Will.”

“Yes,” Will said, dragging the word out as Hannibal took him in his mouth again and sucked harder, moved faster.

Will came almost instantly.

He slumped into the chair when he finished, clutching at Hannibal’s shoulders for a long time.

“Say it again.”

Will tried to find a reason to doubt his decision and the things he’d done in the last couple hours. But there was nothing but curiosity. Despite everything that had happened, nothing between them had changed. Not really. “Yes,” he said.

Hannibal smiled at him and stood, moved briskly through the kitchen: washing his hands, finishing up breakfast and serving it before sitting down opposite Will.

They ate in comfortable silence and it felt like no time had passed between the dinners they had shared years ago.

“Is it safe for you to be here?” Will said after finishing his plate.

“Do you get many visitors?”

Will shook his head.

“Then you shouldn't worry,” Hannibal said. “Perhaps we should hide the car I arrived with anyway.”

Will nodded.

They drank their coffees, watched each other the entire time. Then Will’s gaze wandered over to the dogs.

“There’s room in my house.”

Will smiled. “Good,” he said.


	8. Chapter 8

The modest house turned out to be not modest at all. It came with a pool and a big yard, two spare bedrooms, a kitchen as well-equipped as the one in Hannibal's house in Baltimore.

Will didn’t mind because Hannibal had been honest about the location at least; the outskirts of Havana, high walls of trees and concrete around the property. Hannibal had never crossed paths with their neighbors. The only evidence of them were their houses visible from the second-floor balcony.

Will spent most of his time outside, in the shadowy spots in the yard. There were deck chairs along the pool side, unprotected from the sun, where Hannibal spent his mornings sunbathing, but Will rarely used them. He figured they’d have to move everything before the summer rains came, but until then Hannibal could enjoy it.

In the comfortable silence of early mornings and lazy afternoons, they learned to share space and exist together. With it came this: going to bed together, waking up in the sun-filled bedroom, sometimes with their legs entwined, sometimes with Hannibal’s face pressed to Will’s nape. And always with the dogs nudging their feet, licking their hands, waiting to be let out. It took a while for them to get used to yet another new home. But the calmness that settled over Will seemed to pass onto them, too.  

That and letting them sleep in the bedroom, of course. Hannibal had only agreed to it reluctantly, but he was the one to usher them in around bedtime now.

Early one morning, Will woke up alone in the bedroom. He went over to the window, saw the dogs in the backyard. Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, though.

Will listened for the shower and sure enough he heard the soft hiss of water.

On the nightstand he found coffee. Still warm. He took a sip, then lay down again and waited for Hannibal to finish. It was a weird thing, being this close to him again, but Will didn’t question it anymore. He was done with that.

Just like he was done with the recurring nightmares of Hannibal drowning. He didn’t dream much these days, or only of Hannibal’s hands on him.

Will focused on the feeling those kind of dreams evoked in him instead of dwelling on the past. Excitement rushed through him. His hand slid down between his legs, tugging on his erection. When he opened his eyes a while later, Hannibal was standing over him. Will’s cock jerked, got wet. He stroked himself faster. “I used to dream about this,” he said. “You watch me while I touch myself.”

Hannibal inhaled visibly. “Do you want that?”

“No.” Will stopped touching himself and sat up, pushed the sheets aside. The towel around Hannibal’s hips came loose with one tug. Will dropped it to the floor. “Lie down, on your stomach.”

Hannibal complied without hesitation. He rested his head on his folded arms, closed his eyes.

It was still a novelty, having him like this with nothing between them. No veil of deception or illness. There was no rush here, no expectations to be fulfilled. It was just skin on skin and the particular kind of patience that came from knowing it would happen again and again.

Will shimmied down the bed, found room between Hannibal’s legs. He bit him once, in the middle of one tanned ass cheek.

Hannibal didn’t flinch. “It’d be easier if I’m on my knees.”

“What exactly?”

Hannibal didn’t answer just lifted his head and gave him a long look over his shoulder.

“I want it like this,” Will said. “Just-just— give me your hands.”

Hannibal reached for a pillow first, put it under his head, then held his hands out.

Will placed one on each cheek, pulled a little. “Spread your legs a little more. Yeah. Stay like that.”

The first long lick made Hannibal flinch even though there was no mistaking what Will had planned to do. His thighs pressed against Will’s body, trying to close, then spread again. He was soft under Will’s tongue, twitching.

“Have you done this before?” Will said, deciding to give him a breather.

“No.” Hannibal’s voice sounded thick. A flush was creeping up his neck already.

“I want to do it until you come,” Will said, then closed his eyes and leaned in again.

“I don’t think—“ Hannibal started to say, but his voice got lost in a groan when Will wiggled the tip of his tongue inside. His entire body went rigid for a second, as if trying to decide whether he liked it or not.

Will let him have all of it; broad slow strokes, quicker ones that made Hannibal breathe hard. Then he pointed his tongue and pushed inside again.

Hannibal seemed to like that best; quick hard pushes inside him.

Will did it until his tongue and jaw were aching, and even then he didn’t stop.

At one point, Hannibal tried to get up on his knees but Will pushed him back down and kept going. He could feel that Hannibal was close, his body was tense, his hips pushing forward into the mattress. When Will stopped, it was only to watch the play of muscle along Hannibal's sweaty back and thighs. His arms were tense, shaking. It must’ve hurt to hold this position for so long.

Will kissed his shaking hand. “I want you to come like this.”

Hannibal spread his legs a little more, dug his fingers into his own flesh, pulling, exposing himself. He jerked when Will rubbed at him with one wetted finger. A rough touch compared to Will’s tongue. He was pink, glistening with saliva. Will pushed his middle finger in a little bit, then he replaced it with his tongue.

It didn’t take long after that.

Hannibal got louder than he ever had before. But then again, they’d never had this much time, they’d never been this free before.

Hannibal’s deep short groans hung in the air around them and came in time with Will's touch. He shook under Will, pushed his hips into the bed more firmly. Will had to hold him closer, dig his fingers in, and that seemed to push Hannibal over the edge. He cried out and tightened against Will’s tongue in quick waves. His hips jerked forward and back, his legs spread wider.

Will held still and let him have the feeling until he was finished. With a thumb, he tested how warm and wet Hannibal was, how pliant he had made him. Inside, Hannibal was burning hot. Will had ignored his own arousal, but now he felt it flare up in his groin, so hot he pushed his own hips into the bed. He could probably come like this, watching Hannibal slowly come down from his climax, still shaking from it, still out of it. He moved up, put his cock between Hannibal’s cheeks.

Hannibal was saying something.

Will leaned down, got closer to his red face. “What?”

Hannibal’s eyes opened slowly. “Come inside me,” he said, and Will’s hips stuttered forward.

“Oh,” he said, his head dropping to Hannibal’s shoulder. Will was wet already from pre-come, but he spat in his hand and spread it on himself anyway. Hannibal was loose and relaxed and oversensitive. He jerked when Will put the head of his cock inside him.

"S-sorry." Will pulled out. Then pushed in again. Slow. Just the tip of his dick. His hand worked the rest. It only took a couple strokes before he was coming. Inside Hannibal. His shaking face was pressed to Hannibal’s back, his heart thudded in his chest.

When he pulled out, ejaculate ran down Hannibal’s balls.

Will watched, another wave of pleasure shaking him. He wanted to put his mouth back there, but Hannibal grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up for a kiss.

“God,” Will whispered. He slumped down next to Hannibal, one leg and arm draped over him.

The skin around Hannibal’s eyes crinkled with a smile.

-

Later, they went to explore the colorful weather-worn buildings of the old city once more. They sat outside the restaurant near the Cathedral Square, Hannibal drawing and Will watching the people around them. Before sundown, they walked towards the water, watched the orange glow of the sun slowly fading and the sky turn indigo.

“I had an interesting conversation with Bedelia while you were in prison,” Will said. “She seemed certain that you’re in love with me.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal was silent for a while. “And you still did what you did.”

Will nodded.

The sky slowly filled with stars. Soon the darkness would hide the cracks of time in the buildings around them. Maybe it could hide the pain they’d inflicted on each other, too.

Maybe they could find something good here.

Will looked over at Hannibal, at the small proud smile on his face.

“How cruel of you,” Hannibal said, and before Will could respond, he added, “Just the way I like you.”

Will let out a breath of laughter. They didn’t really need hiding. They’d done enough of that. They had seen each other and there was no going back.

Silence grew between them.

“It just seemed impossible,” Will said after a while. “That you loved me.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

Before them, water that had carried them here. Behind them, a city halted in time, a mixture of old and new.

Beautiful.

“No,” Will said and took Hannibal’s hand in his. He held onto it until they decided to walk back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic turned out so fluffy, I'm sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Btw, if you are following me [here](https://ammetiis.tumblr.com) and messaged or tagged me, I’m not ignoring you; I don’t have access to that blog anymore. I’m now [here](https://aametis.tumblr.com).


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